#this team is not a team... i fear this team is a handful of people in a trenchcoat

[mapis-putellas]

𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒐𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔/𝑨.𝑷𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒔

Okay, so I have no idea how many words this is, but it’s super freaking long and I had to stop here before I went too crazy. I think the ending is perfect, but I can do a part 2 if enough of you guys want it. Enjoy <3

The flat felt emptier than usual, though Alexia's familiar presence still lingered in the small things. The scent of her perfume on the throw blanket draped over the couch, the mug she always used sitting on the counter, the neatly folded laundry on the chair that you hadn't yet put away. But these reminders weren't enough anymore. They only made the emptiness sharper, the silence heavier.

You sighed as you sat on the edge of the couch, scrolling through your phone without really looking at the screen. Alexia wouldn't be home for another few hours—some team meeting or another. The time alone had become routine, almost expected. She'd walk in, tired, offer you a quiet smile, and head straight for the shower. Then you'd both go to bed, lying on opposite sides, separated by an invisible wall that neither of you seemed willing to breach.

It wasn't always like this. Once, not so long ago, the flat had been filled with laughter and warmth. You remembered how Alexia used to pull you into her arms the moment she walked through the door, murmuring sweet words in Spanish as she peppered soft kisses to any part of your face she could reach. How you'd both stay up late talking, sharing dreams and fears like you were the only two people in the world.

But those moments felt distant now, like they belonged to another version of you—of what you used to be.

When Arsenal had reached out with an offer, you hadn't hesitated to listen. The idea of leaving Barcelona, of leaving Alexia, should've filled you with dread, but it didn't. Instead, it felt like relief. A chance to escape the slow unraveling of your relationship before it completely came apart and hurt you both beyond repair in the process.

You weren't sure if Alexia would fight to keep you here, and that uncertainty hurt more than you cared to admit.

The sound of keys in the lock broke through your thoughts. You looked up as Alexia stepped inside, her hair tied back in a low bun, a tired but polite smile on her lips. She looked beautiful, as always, but there was a hesitance in her movements, like she wasn't sure how to approach you anymore.

"Hola," she said softly, setting her bag down by the door, kicking off her shoes that land on the carpeted floor with a soft thud.

"Hi," you replied, forcing a smile that you knew didn't reach your eyes.

She hesitated for a moment, like she wanted to say something, but instead she simply nodded in acknowledgment and headed toward the bathroom. The sound of the shower running filled the silence, and you sank back against the couch, the weight of everything pressing down on you. You made your way to bed eventually, and you found Alexia already asleep, curled up at the very edge of the bed. You stared at her for a second, swallowing the tightness in your throat as you climbed in next to her and tugged the blankets up to your waist.

You laid on your side, hand instinctively reaching out to touch her, but it fell short, simply skimming the material of her T-shirt. One of her own. Not yours like it once had been. A single tear fell then, tickling your skin as it glided down your cheek. After a second, you turned to face away from her, the distance between you both feeling bigger than ever.

The next morning, Alexia was already gone when you woke up. A note on the counter told you she had an early training session. You stared at her neat handwriting for a moment, the words blurring slightly as tears pricked at your eyes.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be. She was supposed to wake you up with soft touches and kisses, coaxing you into the shower whilst she cooked breakfast so you could both head to training together. Just like you used to do.

You decided to call in sick to training, and unlike she would have done before, Alexia doesn't call to check in; to ask where you were or if you were okay. It only made your decision all the more clear. You spend the day mulling over it, replaying the offer from Arsenal in your mind. It wasn't just about the opportunity to play for a new team, not anymore. It was about starting over. Finding yourself again.

By the time Alexia came home that evening, you had made up your mind.

"Can we talk?" you asked as she walked into the living room.

Her brows furrowed slightly, but she nodded, sitting down on the couch next to you.

You hesitated as you turned to face her, your hands twisting nervously in your lap. "Arsenal made me an offer," you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Alexia's eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, she didn't say anything. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet. "You... you are leaving?"

"I haven't decided yet," you admitted, though the words felt like a lie.

Her gaze dropped to her hands, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. "Why?"

"Alexia..." You sighed, struggling to find the right words. "Things between us, they're not the same anymore. We're not the same anymore."

She looked up at you, her brown eyes filled with something you couldn't quite place—hurt, maybe, or regret. "You don't want to try?"

"I don't even know if we can fix this," you admitted, your voice breaking slightly. "We barely see each other. We barely talk. I just... I don't know if this is what you want anymore."

Her jaw tightened, and she looked away, her hands clenching into fists. "I want you," she said, her accent thick with emotion. "But you—you are leaving."

"I don't have to."

The silence that followed was deafening. You wanted her to fight for you, to beg you to stay, but instead, she just sat there, her shoulders slumping under the weight of your words.

"I need to think," you said finally, standing up. "I'll stay at a hotel tonight."

She didn't try to stop you as you grabbed your bag you'd packed earlier and walked out the door. It closed behind you with a click that sounded deafening, final, and she didn't try and follow you. Your eyes stung with the familiar sensation of tears as you made your way to your car, a single one falling, staining your skin as you slumped into the drivers seat. You glanced at the house again, begging, hoping the door would open and Alexia would appear and plead with you to stay. But the door stayed closed, and the place Alexia would have once stood remained empty.

Feeling emptier than you ever had before, you started the car.

The hotel room felt cold and impersonal, but it was a welcome distraction from the heaviness of the flat. You spent hours staring at the ceiling, replaying the conversation -or lack there of, with Alexia over and over in your mind. You loved her. That was never the problem. Had never been the problem. But love wasn't always enough, and you weren't sure if you could keep pretending that it was.

Sleep didn't come easy that night.

The next morning, as you were packing up your things, there was a knock at your door. It was quiet, almost as though the person on the other side had no intention of you really hearing it. But you had. You opened the door to find Alexia standing there, her eyes red-rimmed and tired. She was holding a small box, her hands trembling slightly as she held it out to you.

"What's this?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

She didn't answer, just motioned for you to open it. You do, and inside was a simple silver bracelet, engraved with the coordinates of the place where you'd first met. The Barça training grounds.

"I bought this for you," she said quietly, her voice halting and unsure. "But I... I never gave it to you. I was waiting for the right time."

Tears filled your eyes as you looked up at her. "Alexia..."

"I know I make mistakes," she said, her voice trembling. "But I love you. And I want to fix this. Please... don't go."

For the first time in weeks, you felt a flicker of hope. Maybe things weren't perfect, but they didn't have to be. Maybe you could find your way back to each other. Just like how you used to be.

You reached out, taking her hand in yours and squeezing softly. "I love you too," you said. "Let's figure this out. Together."

And for the first time in a long time, Alexia smiled—a real, genuine smile that made you feel like maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay.

*

But things don't always turn out like you wish.

The days passed in a blur of routines and rehearsed smiles, but no matter how much effort you and Alexia put into trying to mend the fractures in your relationship, something always felt off. Scheduled date nights became more of an obligation than a joy, a box to tick off in your shared attempts to fix what had once been effortless.

Dinners at your favorite restaurants were filled with polite conversation, a stark contrast to the laughter and shared glances that used to make the world feel smaller. When you went on walks, the silences felt heavier, stretched thin by the weight of everything that neither of you could bring yourselves to say. Even your rare lazy mornings together, which had once been sacred, now felt stilted, like two strangers trying too hard to find a common ground that had long since eroded.

You wanted to believe you could fix it. You both did. But the truth was undeniable. No amount of effort could recreate the spark that had gone out. And the harder you tried, the more apparent it became that you weren't meant to keep holding on.

You sat on the edge of the bed one night, staring at your phone but not really seeing the screen. Alexia was beside you, scrolling through her own phone, but the expression on her face was undecipherable. The space between you felt bigger than ever, and you knew she felt it too.

You thought about the Arsenal offer again. It had been weeks since you'd spoken to Alexia about it, but the idea had never left your mind. At first, you had dismissed it as an impulsive reaction to your struggles, a way to escape the pain of watching your relationship crumble into pieces. But the more time that passed, the more it felt like the right choice. Not just for your career, but for your sanity—and for Alexia's.

The thought of leaving her hurt, but not in the way you had expected. It wasn't the gut-wrenching agony you'd always imagined a breakup with Alexia would bring. Instead, it felt like a quiet sadness, a dull ache that you knew would fade with time.

You had been torturing yourself with the decision for days, envisioning the hurt in her eyes, the betrayal she would undoubtedly feel. But no matter how much you agonized over it, the answer was clear

Neither of you could heal while you were still together.

When you finally made the decision, it didn't bring the relief you had hoped for. Instead, it left you with a sense of finality, a heavy weight in your chest. You knew you needed to tell Alexia, but every time you tried, the words caught in your throat. Like there was something in the way.

It wasn't until a week later that you found the courage to say what needed to be said.

You came home from speaking to Jonatan to find Alexia in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for dinner. She glanced up when you walked in, offering you a small smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Hola," she said softly, her accent still as endearing as ever.

"Hi," you replied, leaning against the counter as you watched her. Your heart ached at the sight of her, at the knowledge of what you were about to do.

"I need to talk to you," you said, your voice trembling slightly.

Alexia froze, her knife hovering over the cutting board. After a second, she set it down carefully before turning to face you, her expression wary.

"What is it?" she asked, her eyes searching yours.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was to come. "I've decided to take the Arsenal offer."

Her eyes widened, and for a moment, she didn't say anything. The silence in the room felt heavy. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. "You're leaving?"

"I think it's the best thing for both of us," you said, your throat tight. You couldn't cry. Not now. "We've been trying so hard, but it's not working, Alexia. We can't keep pretending that everything is okay when it's evidently clear it's not."

Her jaw clenched, and she looked away, her hands gripping the edge of the counter. "I thought we were fixing it," she said, her voice trembling. "I thought we were trying."

"We were," you said, stepping closer to her. "But trying isn't enough. We're forcing something that isn't there anymore, and it's not fair to either of us."

She turned back to you, tears glistening in her eyes. The sight stung more than you thought it would. "So that's it? You're just leaving?"

"I don't want to hurt you," you said, your own voice breaking. "that's the last thing I ever want to do. But I can't stay and keep pretending that this is going to work. We deserve better than this, Alexia. Both of us."

Her shoulders slumped, and you knew she knew you were right. She let out a shaky breath. "I don't know how to say goodbye to you," she said, her voice choked.

You felt tears spill down your cheeks as you reached out, taking her hands in yours. "You don't have to say goodbye," you said softly. "We'll always have a connection, Alexia. It's inevitable. But we can't keep holding onto something that's only hurting us."

She nodded slowly, her tears falling freely now. "I love you," she whispered.

"I love you too," you whisper, tugging on her hand and pulling her into your arms. She fell limp against you, arms clinging to your waist as she shook with silent sobs. You buried your face into her neck, taking in her smell, her touch. The way her hands fist your shirt tightly, like she was terrified to let go. It was the first time you'd held her in what felt like months. After a moment, you pulled away, your trembling hands reaching up to cup her cheeks. She stared at you, eyes shiny and cheeks wet. She leaned into your touch, and you smiled sadly as you gently wipe away the tears beneath her eyes. "And that's why I have to do this." You just manage to choke out.

Alexia's bottom lip trembled, and you pursed your own lips to stop them from doing the same as you pulled her back into your arms. This time, you allowed yourself to cry too.

The next few weeks were a whirlwind of packing, paperwork, and goodbyes. Alexia helped you with everything, even though you knew it was killing her to watch you go. To leave the life you both knew so well behind. She was even there when you packed up the last of your things, her quiet presence a comfort even in the midst of the heartbreak.

On your last night in Barcelona, you sat together on the couch, a glass of wine in each of your hands. The silence between you was heavy, but not uncomfortable.

"I'm going to miss you," Alexia said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. You glanced at her to see her looking down at the glass she had resting on her leg, finger tip tracing over the rim.

"I'm going to miss you too," you replied, your heart aching at the thought of leaving her. She looked up at you, and the unmistakable shine of tears in her eyes was back. You reached forward, setting your wine onto the coffee table before holding out your arm. Alexia sniffled as she placed her glass next to your own before scooting closer, curling up against your side and laying her head against chest. You wrapped your arm around her shoulders, squeezing softly as you rest your cheek against the top of her head. No more words were spoken. They didn't need to be. What was done, was done, and now, you were just making the most of having her close.

When it was time to leave, she walked you to the door, her hand lingering in yours as she said goodbye.

"Take care of yourself," she said, her voice trembling.

"You too," you replied, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her cheek.

And then you were gone, stepping outside with your bags in tow. Alexia remained in the threshold of the doorway as you packed your things into the trunk of your car, and as much as it pained you to do so, you ignore the quivering breaths that escape her lips as she tried, yet failed to hold herself together. As you opened the drivers side door, you glanced back at her one last time. She was frozen in place, arms crossed against her chest in what you knew was a futile effort at comforting herself.

You couldn't bring yourself to do anything more than lift your hand, a silent, yet almost pathetic bid goodbye. Alexia mimicked it, and you stare at her for just a second longer before finally getting into the car. You hear the quiet sob that escaped her lips just as you closed the door, and your own vision became blurry with tears you refused to let fall. As you start the car and put it into drive, you drive off into the quiet of the night without glancing back.

*

The flight to London was quiet, giving you plenty of time to reflect on everything that had happened. You knew you had made the right decision, but that didn't make it any easier. Starting over would be hard, you know that, but you were determined to find yourself again—to rediscover the passion and joy that had brought you to football in the first place.

And as much as it hurt to leave Alexia behind, you knew that this was the best thing for both of you. It was the only way to truly heal.

*

Settling into Arsenal was easier than you ever could have imagined. From the moment you stepped foot on the training pitch, you were greeted with smiles, playful banter, and an atmosphere that felt both warm and inviting. The team had an undeniable companionship, one you hadn't realized how much you missed. It wasn't just the people, though; it was the environment as a whole. Arsenal gave you space to breathe, to be yourself, and to rediscover the parts of football that made you fall in love with it in the first place.

Barça had once given you that too, at the beginning. But when your relationship with Alexia started to crumble, so had your relationship with the people you had once called your friends. Every interaction with them had felt forced, fake, even. The truth was you had never wanted them to know just what was going on behind the scenes when they weren’t there. You hadn’t wanted them to think they had to take sides.

For the first time in months, you felt truly free. Free from the weight of trying to fix something that was irreparable. Free from the guilt and the pain that had clung to you after leaving Alexia. And as difficult as it had been to walk away from her and everything you'd built together, you realized now it had been the right decision.

It wasn't immediate, of course. The first few weeks were a blur of adjusting to a new city, new teammates, and a new routine. But once you found your footing, you began to feel the joy creeping back in. The rush of adrenaline during a perfectly timed tackle, the satisfaction of weaving a pass through a crowded midfield, the way your teammates celebrated every small victory as if it were monumental—it all reminded you why you'd worked so hard to make it big in the first place.

And then there was Leah.

Leah Williamson, the team's captain and all-around golden girl, had been one of the first to welcome you. She'd offered you a tour of the facilities, introduced you to everyone, and made it her personal mission to ensure you felt at home. She had a heart of gold and a quick wit that often had you crying with laughter during team dinners. Her energy was infectious, and her kindness knew no bounds too.

At first, you didn't think much of it. Leah was friendly with everyone, so it wasn't surprising that she'd taken you under her wing. But as the weeks turned into months, you began to notice the little things. The way her gaze lingered on you a moment too long during training. The way she always seemed to find her way to your side during team activities. The way she'd offer to drive you home after late practices, even if it meant going out of her way.

You couldn't deny the connection between you, but the scars from your relationship with Alexia were still too raw to even think about dating again. You needed time to heal, to find yourself again. So, when Leah's shy advances became more apparent, you gently and kindly turned her down.

She never took it personally, though. Leah was patient, understanding, and never once made you feel pressured. Instead, she remained a constant source of support and friendship, always there with a warm smile or a sarcastic comment to make your day just that bit better.

By the time five months had passed, you were in a completely different place than when you first arrived. You felt stronger, both physically and mentally, lighter, and more like yourself than you had in a long time. And while you hadn't planned on falling for anyone, Leah somehow made it happen.

It started subtly, almost imperceptibly. The way your heart skipped a beat when she laughed. The way her touch lingered on your arm when she passed you a water bottle during breaks. The way she always seemed to know exactly what to say to calm your nerves before a big match without even trying.

You tried to ignore it at first, convincing yourself it was nothing more than a harmless crush. But the more time you spent with Leah, the harder it became to deny your feelings.

Three months after Leah first made her interest known, you found yourself standing outside the training ground, her car idling nearby as she waited for you. She'd offered to drive you home again, as she often did, and you'd agreed without hesitation.

As you slid into the passenger seat, you glanced over at her, taking in the way the golden evening light framed her face. She looked at you with that familiar, easy smile, and you felt something shift inside you.

"Leah," you said, your voice softer than you intended.

"Yeah?" she replied, turning to face you fully.

You hesitated for a moment, your hands fidgeting in your lap. "Would you... maybe want to grab dinner or something this weekend? Just the two of us?"

Her eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, you worried you'd misread everything. But then her smile grew, lighting up her entire face.

"I'd love to," she said, her voice warm.

And it was casual at first. You didn't go on any grand, elaborate dates. Instead, you kept things low-key, easing into the idea of a relationship and seeing where it might lead. You'd grab coffee after practice, watch movies at her place, or take long walks through the city, talking about everything and nothing all at the same time.

Leah never rushed you, never pushed for more than you were ready to give. And for that, you were endlessly grateful. She made you feel safe, cherished, and most importantly, like you could be yourself.

One evening, you found yourself curled up on Leah's couch, a bowl of popcorn balanced precariously on your lap as a movie played on the TV. Leah sat beside you, her arm draped casually along the back of the couch and over your shoulders.

As the credits rolled, you turned to her, a soft smile tugging at your lips. "You know," you said, your tone teasing, "I never thought I'd end up here."

"On my couch, stealing my popcorn?" she quipped, raising an eyebrow.

You laughed, nudging her playfully. "No, I mean... with you. After everything that happened, I didn't think I'd ever feel this way again."

Leah's expression softened, and she reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "You deserve to be happy," she said simply. "And if I can be the one to make you happy, then that's all I want."

Your heart melted at her words, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

As the weeks turned into months, your relationship with Leah grew stronger. She became your rock, your confidante, and your biggest cheerleader. And though the memories of your past relationship with Alexia still lingered, they no longer weighed you down like an anchor to shore.

You were finally moving forward, and with Leah by your side, you knew you could face whatever challenges came your way.

Because sometimes, love wasn't about grand gestures or sweeping romances. Sometimes, it was about finding someone who made you feel whole, who reminded you of all the reasons you deserved to be happy.

And Leah did exactly that.

*

The Emirates Stadium buzzed with anticipation, the Arsenal fans creating an atmosphere so loud and electric you could almost feel it in your bones. But none of it seemed to register with you as you stood in the tunnel, waiting to step out onto the pitch. Your heart was pounding for a reason that had nothing to do with nerves about the match.

Barcelona.

And Alexia.

You hadn't spoken to her in months. Not since the last awkward exchange after you'd left for Arsenal. She hadn't reached out, and neither had you. It was better that way. Cleaner. But the silence didn't mean you hadn't thought about her. Late at night, when your mind wandered, or when something small reminded you of her, the memories crept in. You'd even caught yourself scrolling through her Instagram more times than you cared to admit, trying to piece together what her life looked like now you weren’t in it.

But absolutely nothing could have prepared you for seeing her in person again.

As the line-up for the match formed in the tunnel, your gaze was drawn to the familiar blonde ahead of you. Her back was to you, the number 11 stitched across her Barça kit. She looked the same, yet entirely different. Her posture was as composed and confident as always, the way it had been every time she'd led her team.

You tried to focus elsewhere. On the way Leah stood next to you, her fingers subtly brushing against yours in quiet reassurance. On the way your Arsenal teammates were joking to ease the tension. But no matter how much you tried to ground yourself, your eyes found their way back to Alexia.

And then she turned.

Her head tilted slightly as her gaze swept over the line-up behind her, landing on you. For a moment, her expression was unreadable. Then, her lips curved into a soft, familiar smile, one that held all the tenderness and intimacy of the countless nights you'd spent wrapped up in each other.

It all but knocked the air from your lungs.

"Hey, you alright?" Leah's voice pulled you back to reality, her hand brushing against your arm as she stepped closer.

You tore your gaze from Alexia, looking up at Leah's concerned face. You nodded quickly ignoring the guilt and forcing a smile. "Yeah, I'm fine," you said, the words a little too quick, a little too forced. But Leah didn't seem to notice. She gave you a small smile of her own before turning back to face the pitch, her focus already shifting to the game.

You wished it was that easy for you.

From the first whistle, the match was intense. Arsenal and Barcelona were two of the best teams in the world, and it showed in every pass, every tackle, every movement on the pitch. The pace was relentless, the energy palpable and consuming.

But as much as you tried to focus, to pour everything into the game, you couldn't stop your mind from drifting. Every time Alexia touched the ball, every time you caught her in your peripheral vision, it was like a weight pressing down on your chest. Heavy and restricting.

It wasn't that you wanted to be with her again. At least, you didn't think so. Things with Leah were good—great, even. She was everything you'd ever hoped for in a partner: kind, funny, supportive, and so easy to love. But seeing Alexia again brought back all the memories you'd worked so hard to bury. The good times, the bad times, and everything in between.

At one point in the first half, Alexia came close, her quick feet dancing around the ball as she tried to get past you. You stepped in, cutting her off and forcing her to pass back. As the play shifted, her eyes met yours for a fleeting second. There was no smile this time, just a look you couldn't quite place.

It was enough to throw you off, and you missed the call to press higher up the pitch. Leah's voice rang out behind you, sharp and commanding as she directed the team. You snapped out of it, refocusing on the game, but the moment stayed with you.

By halftime, the score was still 0-0, both teams locked in a draw. As you made your way to the locker room with the rest of the team, Leah fell into step beside you.

"You've been quiet," she said, her tone casual but laced with concern.

"Just focused," you replied, hoping it sounded convincing. You knew deep down it didn’t.

Leah gave you a small nod, her gaze lingering on you for a moment before she looked ahead. She didn't press, and for that, you were grateful.

The second half didn't get any easier. Barcelona came out stronger, pressing higher and creating more chances. You found yourself locked in a constant battle with Alexia in midfield, each of you pushing the other to your limits. It was both exhilarating and exhausting. Alexia had always been one of the most intelligent players you'd ever faced, and going up against her reminded you of why she was considered one of the best in the world.

But it wasn't just her skill that got to you. It was the way she played with that same passion and fire you'd fallen in love with. The way her voice carried across the pitch as she encouraged her teammates. The way her eyes lit up when Barça came close to scoring.

It was all too much.

By the time the final whistle blew, the score was still tied. A hard-fought draw. Both teams had left everything on the pitch, and as you made your way through the post-match handshakes, you felt the exhaustion settling in.

And then you reached Alexia.

She extended her hand to you, her grip firm yet gentle. "Good game," she said, her English accented but clear.

"Yeah, you too," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Her hand lingered in yours, her eyes searching yours as if she wanted to say something more. But then someone called her name, and the moment passed.

The locker room was a blur of noise and activity as the team celebrated the hard-earned result. Leah was in the center of it all, her laughter and energy infectious as she joked with the others.

You tried to join in, tried to match their enthusiasm, but your heart wasn't in it. Eventually, you slipped away, retreating to a quieter corner of the room.

Leah found you a few minutes later, her expression softening as she sat down beside you. "Hey," she said gently. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," you lied, forcing a smile. "Just tired."

She didn't look convinced, but she didn't push. Instead, she wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you close. "Well, you were brilliant out there," she said. "Just so you know."

You leaned into her touch, letting her warmth and words wash over you. For the first time since the match ended, you felt a small sense of peace.

But as much as you wanted to believe Leah's words, as much as you wanted to focus on this moment, your mind kept drifting back to Alexia. To the way she'd looked at you, the way her smile had stirred something deep inside you. It made you feel so incredibly guilty because Leah didn’t deserve this. She didn’t deserve to feel second best.

For the first time in months, you found yourself wondering if you'd ever truly be free of her.

*

You sat at your kitchen table, staring blankly at the untouched cup of tea in front of you that you'd made at least an hour ago. The London skyline stretched out beyond the window, but it did little to calm the storm inside your head. It had been two weeks since the match against Barcelona, and yet, Alexia hadn't left your thoughts.

You had tried—really tried—to push her from your mind. You'd thrown yourself into training, focused harder than ever during matches, and spent as much time as possible with Leah. But no matter what you did, Alexia was still there. The memory of her smile in the tunnel, the way her eyes had lingered on yours for just a little too long, haunted you.

Had you made the right decision leaving Barcelona? Leaving her? Getting into a relationship with Leah before you’d truly had chance to heal? All because you didn’t want to be alone? You cared about Leah. Truly, you did. She made you feel good, and she was funny, and sweet, and so so kind. But did you really love her? Or did you just think you did, because you so badly wanted that to be the case? Or was she just a distraction? Something to hide behind so you didn’t have to face the truth?

The questions gnawed at you, refusing to let go. When you'd made the decision to transfer to Arsenal, it had felt like the only option. Your relationship with Alexia had become a shadow of what it once was—distant, strained, and suffocating. You had convinced yourself that leaving was the best thing for both of you. And it had been, at first. But now, you weren't so sure.

Had you given up too easily? Or were you just overthinking everything because seeing her face again after so long apart had all but thrown you off balance?

Training that morning was grueling, but not because of the drills or the pace. Your mind was elsewhere, and it showed. You missed passes, lost focus, and trailed behind during sprints. Jonas called you out on it more than once, his sharp tone cutting through the fog in your mind.

"Focus!" he barked after you fumbled yet another touch. "If your head's not here, you're no good to anyone!"

You nodded mutely, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from snapping back. He was right, of course. But knowing that didn't make it any easier to shake off the heaviness in your chest. It quite literally felt like you suffocating.

Leah caught up with you as you trudged off the pitch at the end of the session. "Hey," she said, her voice soft and laced with concern. "Rough day?"

You forced a small smile. "Just tired," you replied, the lie rolling off your tongue with an ease it shouldn't.

Leah studied you for a moment, her blue eyes searching yours. She didn't press, though. Not like she probably should have. Instead, she slipped her hand into yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Let's grab dinner tonight," she suggested. "Just the two of us. We haven't done that in a while."

You nodded, guilt twisting in your gut. "Yeah, that sounds good."

Dinner with Leah should have been easy. It always was. She was charming and funny, her quick wit never failing to make you laugh. But tonight, even her best efforts couldn't break through the wall you'd built around yourself. You picked at your food, barely contributing to the conversation. Leah noticed, of course, but she didn't say anything. Instead, she reached across the table and took your hand, her thumb brushing softly over your knuckles.

"You've been really quiet lately," she said gently. "Is everything okay?"

You hesitated, searching for the right words. You wanted to tell her everything, to finally unload the weight that had been pressing down on you for weeks. But how could you? How could you admit that you were thinking about your ex more than you should? That you were questioning everything about your life and your choices?

"I'm fine," you said finally, forcing another smile. "Just a lot on my mind."

Leah's gaze lingered on you, her expression soft but full of concern. "You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

"Of course," you said quickly. "I know."

She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes.

That night, as you lay in bed beside Leah, your mind wandered again. You couldn't stop thinking about Alexia—about the life you'd left behind in Barcelona.

You'd loved her. God, you'd loved her so much it hurt. And for a long time, you'd thought she was it. Your forever. The one person who truly understood you in a way no one else ever could.

So why hadn't you tried harder to save it?

The question burned in your mind, keeping you awake long after Leah had drifted off beside you. Had you been scared? Had you been so afraid of watching your relationship crumble that you'd run before it could?

Or had it simply been too far gone to save?

The next few days passed in a blur. You went through the motions—training, matches, spending time with Leah—but it all felt hollow. You couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing, that you were somehow stuck between two worlds and you couldn't escape either.

It wasn't fair to Leah. She deserved someone who was fully present, someone who could give her the love and attention she deserved. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't give her that. Not when your heart and mind were still tangled up in Alexia.

You hated yourself for it.

Leah was perfect in so many ways. She was kind and caring, always putting others before herself. She made you laugh, even on your worst days, and she had a way of making you feel safe and valued. So why couldn't you just be happy with her? Why wasn't she enough?

One evening, after another restless night, you found yourself scrolling through Alexia's Instagram again. You hated that you couldn't seem to stop. Every photo felt like a punch to the gut—a reminder of the life you'd left behind. There she was, smiling with her teammates, celebrating yet another win. There she was with her family, the people who had welcomed you so warmly during your time in Barcelona. And there she was, looking as beautiful as ever, her smile brighter than the sun.

She looked happy.

The realization hit you like a train. Alexia was happy. She was moving on, living her life without you. And as much as it hurt, you knew you couldn't begrudge her that.

But what about you?

Were you happy?

The answer was painfully clear.

It took you four days to summon the courage to talk to Leah. The thought of hurting her, of shattering the trust and connection you'd built over the past few months, made you sick to your stomach. But you knew it was the right thing to do. It wasn't fair to lead her on. To pretend like you were happy when in actual fact it felt like you were drowning. As you sat together on the couch together, you finally found the words.

"Leah," you began, your voice audibly trembling. You hated that you already sounded so pathetic.

She turned to look at you, her brows furrowing in concern. "What's wrong?"

"I need to talk to you about something."

Her expression shifted, the worry in her eyes deepening. "Okay," she said softly. "I'm listening."

You hesitated, searching for the right words. "I care about you," you said finally. "I really do. And I've loved being with you these past couple of months. But..."

Her face fell, and your heart shattered at the sight. Here you were, yet again breaking someone's heart.

"But I don't think I'm in the right place to be in a relationship right now," you continued, your voice barely above a whisper. "I thought I was ready, but I'm not. And it's not fair to you."

Leah was silent for a long moment, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Is this about Alexia?" she asked finally, her voice steady but quiet. It was as though she knew she couldn't change your mind. You longed to reach out and take her hand. Hug her. Anything. But it felt selfish to do so. And so you just sit, trembling hands clasped together on your lap.

You looked down at your hands, unable to meet her gaze. "Partly," you admitted. "But it's not just about her. It's about me. I need to figure out who I am and what I want, and I can't do that while I'm still carrying so much baggage from my past."

Leah nodded slowly, her lips pressing into a thin line. "I understand," she said, her voice cracking slightly. "I don't like it, but I understand."

You reached for her hand then, your heart aching as she allowed you to hold it. "You mean so much to me," you said, your voice breaking. "And I'm so sorry."

She gave you a small, sad smile. "It's okay," she said. "I'll be okay."

You wanted to believe her, but the pain in her eyes told you otherwise.

That night, after Leah had left, you sat alone in your apartment, the weight of your decision crashing down on you. It was the right thing to do—for both of you—but that didn't make it any easier.

*

The days after ending things with Leah felt like you were moving through molasses. Time passed, but you hardly noticed. Training sessions were a blur of drills and matches that you barely registered. You showed up, you worked, and you left, barely engaging with anyone. Your teammates were kind, supportive, but you couldn't shake the distance you kept from them—or from yourself.

Leah was polite, as professional as ever, but the warmth that used to mark your conversations had been replaced with a cool hesitance. You couldn't blame her. You had ended things, after all. She deserved space to process. But the tentative exchanges between you only deepened your sense of isolation.

The others noticed, of course. How could they not? Beth's concerned glances, Viv's quiet observations, and Katie's half-hearted jokes in an attempt to cheer you up didn't go unnoticed. But you didn't know how to let them in. How could you explain that it wasn't just about Leah? That it wasn't just about Alexia?

It was everything.

You felt like a ghost of yourself. Your apartment felt like a prison, cold and empty, and the silence within its walls was almost deafening. Tasks that once seemed simple—cooking, cleaning, even eating—felt monumental. Most nights, you picked at something small and crawled into bed, waiting for sleep to take away the ache of loneliness.

After a particularly grueling training session, you sat alone at your cubby, pulling off your boots. Your body was exhausted, but your mind refused to quiet down. The other players chatted and laughed around you, their voices blending into white noise.

You were so lost in thought that you didn't notice someone approaching until a throat cleared softly above you. Startled, you looked up to see Leah standing there, her arms crossed and expression guarded.

"Hey," she said, her voice low and hesitant.

"Hey," you replied, equally cautious.

There was a long pause, the kind of silence that felt heavy and awkward. Leah shifted on her feet, looking like she wanted to bolt but was forcing herself to stay.

"Uh... Beth and Viv are having dinner at theirs tonight," she said, finally breaking the silence. "They wanted me to ask if you'd like to come."

Your first instinct was to say no. The idea of being in a social setting, of pretending to be okay when you felt anything but, was overwhelming. You opened your mouth to decline, but Leah spoke again before you could.

"Beth insists," she added, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

You glanced across the locker room to where Beth was sitting at her cubby. She was already looking your way, her smile warm and encouraging. It was clear that Leah had been sent as a messenger, and you felt a pang of guilt at the realization. They were trying to include you, to pull you out of whatever shell you'd retreated into.

After a long moment, you nodded. "Okay," you said quietly.

Leah gave a small, almost relieved smile. "Good," she said. "We'll head over after showers."

*

Beth and Viv's house was cozy and welcoming, filled with the smells of cooking and the sounds of music playing softly in the background. It was the kind of warmth you hadn't felt in a long time, and it took you by surprise.

"Hey, there she is!" Beth greeted you with a grin as you stepped inside. She pulled you into a quick hug, her energy so infectious you couldn't help but hug her back. "Glad you could make it."

Viv appeared behind her, offering a quieter but no less genuine smile. "Dinner's almost ready. Make yourself comfortable."

You followed Leah into the living room, where a few of the other girls were already lounging on the couch, chatting and laughing. It was hard not to feel out of place, but Beth's relentless cheerfulness made it a little easier. She handed you a drink and dragged you into a conversation, refusing to let you sit quietly on the sidelines.

For the first time in weeks, you felt yourself relax.

Dinner was lively and filled with conversation about anything and everything, much of it thanks to Beth's sharp wit and Viv's occasional dry humor. The food was delicious, and you found yourself eating more than you had in days.

At one point, Leah caught your eye from across the table. She smiled—small and tentative, but genuine—and you felt a flicker of something you hadn't felt in a while: hope.

The evening passed more quickly than you expected. By the time you left, your mood had lifted ever so slightly. It wasn't a cure-all for everything you were feeling, but it was a start, at least. And for that you were grateful.

The next day, Beth cornered you in the locker room before training.

"So," she began, leaning casually against the bench. "You survived dinner."

You laughed softly. "I did. Thanks for inviting me."

Beth grinned. "Anytime. But seriously, don't be a stranger. We're a team, you know? We're here for you."

Her words hit you harder than you expected. You nodded, swallowing the lump that had formed in your throat.

"Thanks, Beth," you said quietly.

She nods, reaching out to squeeze your arm before heading to her cubby to change for training.

*

Two months had passed before could really process it, and while the adjustment to being alone again was difficult, you were doing your best to move forward. Slowly but surely, life in London away from the home you'd once known began to feel less overwhelming.

You made a conscious effort to bond with the team. Game nights became a weekly tradition you found yourself looking forward to, even if you weren't the most competitive player off the pitch. Coffee outings after practice gave you a chance to connect with your teammates on a more personal level, and you were surprised at how much you enjoyed their company.

Beth, in particular, became your closest friend. She had a way of talking that was infectious, filling the silences you used to find suffocating. Being around her was easy—she didn't let you slip too far into your own head, and she never made you feel like a burden. Instead, she seemed to know exactly when to step in and distract you. You started spending more time with her than anyone else, gravitating toward her warmth and energy. And Beth, as perceptive as she was, never pushed you away. It was like she understood that you needed her company as much as she needed yours.

Things with Leah had also improved. The initial awkwardness and hurt that hung over you both after the breakup were beginning to fade. Slowly but surely, a tentative friendship began to form. It wasn't perfect—not yet. You still hadn't spent time alone with her, unsure if you trusted yourself not to mess things up again. But there was hope, a mutual understanding that you could reach a place of real friendship eventually.

Sometimes, late at night, you wondered if things would've worked out with Leah if it hadn't been for that match against Barça. Seeing Alexia again had reopened wounds you thought were healed, stirring feelings you weren't prepared or had any intention of dealing with.

But London was your home now, and you were finally beginning to accept it. Your life was here, not in Barcelona.

One evening, as you sat on the couch scrolling through your phone, a notification dropped down from the top of your screen.

Alexia: Hey

Three letters, no context.

You stared at the message for what felt like an eternity. Your stomach twisting and your mind racing with questions. Why now? Why after months of silence?

You didn't reply, but the message was impossible to ignore. It lingered in the back of your mind, tugging at your thoughts throughout the next few days. You found yourself spiraling again, replaying old memories and spinning yourself into an endless cycle of what ifs.

Beth noticed first.

It was during a coffee outing after training. You'd been quiet, your mind elsewhere, and whilst Beth had initially been patient, she finally called you out.

"Alright," she prefaces, setting her cup down with a soft thud. You look up from your own cup at the sound, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "What's going on? You've been weird the past few days."

"I'm fine," you said automatically, but Beth raised an eyebrow.

"Don't give me that." She rolled her eyes. "Something's up. Tell me."

You hesitated, torn between wanting to open up and not wanting to drag her into your mess. But Beth had a way of pulling the truth out of you, and you knew it was only a matter of time until you break.

"It's nothing," you said finally, trying, yet failing, to sound convincing. "Just... in my own head a bit."

You could tell by the look on Beth's face that she didn't buy it. You knew that would happen, really, but deep down you wished she wasn't so damn perceptive. "You're always in your own head." She gave you a nudge with her foot under the table. "But this feels different. Spill."

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "It's..." you trail off, and Beth nodded, silently encouraging you to continue "it's Alexia." You admit.

Beth's expression shifted, her teasing demeanor replaced by genuine concern. "What about her?"

"She texted me," you admitted quietly. "Just a simple 'hey.' But it's messing with me and I don't know why."

Beth leaned forward in her seat slightly. "Have you replied?"

"No," you shake your head. "I don't even know what to say. Or if I should say anything at all."

Beth nodded, giving you a moment to gather your thoughts.

"What do you want to say?" she asked finally.

You shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. Part of me wants to ask her why she reached out. Part of me thinks I should ignore it and move on. And part of me..."

Beth tilted her head, waiting.

"Part of me misses her," you admitted, the words feeling heavy on your tongue.

Beth didn't judge or offer unsolicited advice. Instead, she reached across the table and gave your hand a reassuring squeeze.

"Give it a few days. Think on it, yeah? Don’t reply because you feel like you have to."

You run your hands over your face before letting out a deep sigh, eyes drawn to the loose granules of sugar that had spilled onto the table your drinks rested on. "I've left her on read for over forty eight hours," you murmured. "What if-"

"No," Beth shook her head, and you look up at her, surprised at the firmness of her voice. "She'll understand why you haven't answered straight away. It's been, what? Nearly a year since you left her? Left Barcelona?"

You nod, the tightness in your chest returning.

"She can't expect you to not have mixed feelings about this whole thing. Nearly a year apart. Months since you'd last talked. She's gotta give you a bit of leeway. I'm sure she'd feel the same if the situation was reversed and it was you who texted her."

You nod again, knowing was right.

"Give it time," she reached over and squeezed your hand again. You return the gesture. "If they're meant to, things will work out."

You sighed lightly as you picked up your coffee. The cup was cold now, and so was the liquid inside, but that doesn't stop you from taking a sip anyway despite the immediate complaint from your tastebuds.

Beth simply grinned. "That was gross, wasn't it?" She gestured to your cup, and you finally allow yourself to laugh as you set the cup down.

"Oh yeah. Disgusting." You agreed, eternally grateful she'd managed to change the subject without really trying.

Leah was the next to notice.

It was during training, and you were distracted again, your passes sloppy and your focus clearly elsewhere. Leah pulled you aside during a water break, her expression unreadable.

"Hey," she said softly, giving you a gentle nudge with her elbow.. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," you lied as you dropped your water back into the cooler, but Leah simply raised an eyebrow, clearly not believing you.

"You're not," she said matter-of-factly. "What's going on?"

The last thing you wanted was to talk about Alexia with Leah. It felt wrong, considering everything that had happened between you two. But Leah's concern was genuine, and you couldn't bring yourself to brush her off completely after trying so hard these past few months to make things right with her.

"It's complicated," you said finally.

Leah crossed her arms, waiting patiently.

"Leah, I'm not sure if-" you try, but she cut you off.

"Listen, we're friends yeah?"

You nodded immediately. "Yeah, of course, but-"

"And friends tell each other stuff," she cut you off again. "Even the difficult things." She adds.

"I know," you look down at your boots. They were still caked in mud after yesterday's practice in the rain, the chore of cleaning them completely forgotten in your haste to make dinner. "I know that." You look up again. "Really, I do. But..." you cut yourself off this time.

"But...?"

"I don't want to hurt you, Leah," you admit. “We've worked hard to make this friendship work after everything and the last thing I want to do is ruin that by..."

"By what?" Her voice was quieter now. Gentle.

"By talking about my ex." You finally bring yourself to say.

"Ahh," Leah said. "So this is about Alexia."

You nodded, guilt churning your stomach. Suddenly, you feel her hand take your own. You looked up, and you were surprised to see the smile on her face.

"We were friends before we were anything else, y'know. In fact, I'm pretty sure we were friends for longer than we were together, especially if you count after the fact. Which I do, by the way." She squeezed your hand.

Your lips quirked up just slightly.

"And as your friend," she punctuated that with another squeeze. "It's within my rights to demand you tell me whats wrong."

"Demand?" The quiet laughter that escaped your lips was a surprise to you both.

"Damn right," she grinned, finally dropping your hand and crossing her arms against her chest. "So tell me, what's going on."

You hesitated for a second, raising an eyebrow to silently ask if she was sure. Leah just sighs exasperatedly as she gives you another nudge, and you take that as your cue.

"She texted me out of the blue, and it's... it's thrown me off."

Leah didn't flinch or show any sign of discomfort. Instead, she smiled just slightly, tilting her head to the side.

"What did she say?"

"Just 'hey,'" you said, shaking your head. "But apparently three letters are enough to mess with my head."

Leah's hummed. "Do you want to talk to her?"

"I don't know," you said honestly. "I don't even know what she wants. Or why she's reaching out now, after so long.”

Leah was quiet for a moment. "Sometimes, the only way to stop overthinking is to face it head-on."

Despite the seriousness of her words, you couldn't help but joke a little in spite of yourself. "Since when were you so wise?" You teased.

Leah's mouth parted in shock as she placed a hand to her chest in mock hurt. "'scuse you, I've always been wise thank you very much."

"You have?" You tilted your head to the side. "I must have amnesia or something because I definitely don't remember it being that way."

Leah scoffed. "Amnesia she says. That's it. You've asked for it now." She rolled up her none existent sleeves, and you take a few steps backwards in preparation to run. Seconds later, she lunged at you, and you couldn’t help the squeak that escaped your lips as you trip over your own feet in your haste to escape.

*

That night, you sat on your couch, staring at Alexia's message again. Your finger hovered over the keyboard, your mind a giant mess of conflicting emotions. Should you text her? It felt wrong not to do so considering she'd been left on read for nearly four days. But had it been too long? Had too much time passed? Was your chance gone?

Before you could stop yourself, you typed out a reply.

You: Hey. How are you?

It was simple, cautious. You didn't expect a response right away, but your phone buzzed almost immediately.

Alexia: I'm okay. I just... I wanted to check on you.

Your heart clenched. You typed back before you could overthink it.

You: I'm fine. London's good.

Her next reply was slower, as though she was choosing her words carefully.

Alexia: I miss you.

You stared at the screen, the weight of her words hitting you like a ton of bricks.

Did you miss her too? Of course, you did. You always had. But was that enough to reopen this chapter of your life after it had crumbled so badly the first time?

For now, you didn't reply.

The following days were a blur of confusion and who knew what else. You opened up to Leah again, despite your initial hesitation to do so the last time. Thankfully, she didn't seem to mind, especially when you treat her to lunch as a way of saying both thank you and I'm sorry at the same time. As she ate, she listened patiently as you spilled everything—your lingering feelings for Alexia, your doubts about replying to her, and the guilt you carried for how everything had ended in the first place.

"Do you still love her?" Leah asked gently, pushing away her plate and fiddling with the napkin.

The question caught you off guard. Did you?

"I don't know," you said honestly. "I think I do. But I don't know if it's the kind of love that's enough to fix everything."

Leah nodded. "Maybe it's not about fixing anything. Maybe it's about finding closure, for both of you."

Her words gave you a lot to think about.

As the days passed, you found yourself slowly coming to terms with the fact that you couldn't avoid Alexia forever. Whether it was closure or something more, you needed to figure out what this meant, for both of you.

And so, one evening, you picked up your phone and sent her a message.

You: Can we talk?

Her reply came almost instantly.

Alexia: Yes. Anytime.

With a deep breath, you tapped the call button and brought the phone to your ear. The line rang, each sound increasing your anxiety until it clicked.

"Hola," her voice came through softly, hesitant.

"Hi," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

There was a pause, and you could hear her breathing on the other end. The sound of it was both familiar and strange, tugging at emotions you'd tried for hard to bury.

"How are you?" she asked, breaking the silence. Her English, still thick with her accent, wrapped around the words in a way that made your chest tighten.

"I'm okay," you said, though you weren't sure it was entirely true. "How are you?"

"Good," she replied, though her tone didn't sound convincing. "Better... now."

You didn't know how to respond to that, so you stayed quiet, letting the awkward silence stretch between you both. Hearing her voice again after so long was overwhelming. You'd spent months replaying the sound of it in your head, but the real thing was different. Rawer. More real.

Finally, you gathered the courage to break the tension. "Why did you text me?"

Alexia hesitated, and you could almost picture her biting her lip, trying to decide how honest she should be. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet, vulnerable.

"I miss you," she said, the words simple yet heavy.

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you couldn't bring yourself to respond. You swallow heavily, before finally…

"I miss you too," you admitted.

The line went quiet again, but this time the silence felt heavier, weighted with all the unspoken things left unsaid between you.

"I want to be in your life," she said finally, her voice quiet, almost pleading. "As a friend, if that's all you can give me. But... more, if..." she didn’t finish her sentence, but you were fully aware of what she’d left unsaid and your heart felt like it was in your throat. You'd known Alexia to be bold, fearless on the pitch, but this wasn't the same kind of bravery. This was her laying herself bare, vulnerable in a way that made your chest ache.

"I don't know what to say," you said honestly. "Alexia, I've missed you every single day since I left. But we ended things for a reason. We weren't... good for each other anymore. Do you really think we can be now?"

There was a soft sigh on the other end of the line, followed by a long pause before she replied.

"I don't know," she said quietly. "But I know I want to try. Even if it's just as your friend. I need you in my life, somehow.” Her words hit you hard, and you rubbed at your temples, trying to sort through the mess of emotions swirling in your head.

"Alexia, I..." You trailed off as your hand dropped to your lap, unsure how to finish the sentence. "I just, this is a lot. I don't know if I've even healed properly. From us, from leaving."

"I understand," she said quickly, and you could hear both the sincerity and sadness in her voice. "I do not want to push you. I just... I needed to tell you how I feel."

You sighed deeply as you let her words sink in. She wasn't asking for everything, not yet. Just a chance, and you could give her that, right?

"Maybe... friends," you said finally, the word feeling foreign in the context of your relationship with her. "At least for now. Until we can figure this out. I think we need to talk in person, really talk, before we make any decisions."

"Okay," she said softly, and you could hear the relief in her voice. "Friends, for now."

You nodded, even though she couldn't see it. "Yeah. For now."

Another silence settled between you, but this one felt less awkward, less strained. It was as if the first few barriers had been broken, leaving room for something new—something uncertain but not entirely unwelcome.

"I'll let you go," you said after a while, though you weren't sure if you really wanted to end the call.

"Okay," she said, her voice softer now. "Thank you for calling."

"Thank you for texting," you replied.

The call ended, leaving you staring at your phone. You felt raw, exposed, and unsure of what came next. But there was also a flicker of hope—small, fragile, but there.

*

Life settled into an odd rhythm, with Alexia somehow slotting herself back into your world as though she'd never left. You didn't quite know how it happened—one moment she was just a text on your screen, and the next, she was a consistent part of your life again. It felt strange at first, a little unnatural, but over time, you found a comfortable balance.

Most days, you focused on your life in London. Training and games filled your schedule, but it was the little things that kept you grounded. You spent a lot of time with Beth and Leah. They were easy company, and Beth especially had a way of making you feel lighter.

"You're coming to mine tonight, yeah?" Beth asked one day after training, slinging an arm around your shoulder. "I got Viv to agree to a game of charades. You have to see her impression of a giraffe—it's iconic."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Alright, I'll come. But only if you promise not to let Leah cheat this time."

Beth grinned. "No promises."

Moments like these were the highlights of your week. They reminded you that you had people here, that you weren't as alone as you sometimes felt.

But then there was Alexia.

She occupied a quiet space in your life, a shadow of the past that lingered in the present. You texted almost every day, though the conversations weren't always long or meaningful.

Alexia: Hola. How was training?

You: Good. We had a double session today. You?

Alexia: Hard. Coach had us doing sprints for hour.

Simple exchanges like this became your new normal. They felt safe, like you were keeping her close without letting her in too far.

And then there were the phone calls.

They started innocently enough. Once a week, usually in the evening, one of you would call the other. The conversations were casual—how your days had gone, updates on mutual friends. You looked forward to them. Hearing her voice, even through the awkward pauses and occasional stilted phrases, felt comforting.

One night, after a particularly tough training session, you found yourself dialing her number without even thinking.

"Hola," she answered, her voice warm and familiar.

"Hey," you said, curling up on your sofa, tossing a blanket over your legs and letting out a soft sigh. "How's your day been?"

"Busy," she replied. "But good. We had media stuff this morning, and then training. Now I am cooking."

"What're you making?"

"Paella," she said, and you could hear the pride in her voice. "Do you remember it?"

You smiled. "How could I forget? You always made the best paella."

She laughed softly. "Not always. Remember the time I burned it?"

You did, and the memory made you laugh. "Yeah, and then you tried to convince me it was supposed to taste like that."

The conversation continued, easy and light. But as you were saying goodbye, Alexia slipped.

"Goodnight," she said softly. "I love you."

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Without thinking, you murmured, "I love you too," before ending the call.

The silence that followed was suffocating. You stared at your phone screen, now blank, replaying the moment over and over again.

You did love her. That much you knew. But what did that even mean now?

The next time it happened, you didn't say it back.

"I love you," she said quietly, her voice hesitant, almost as if she hadn't meant to say it at all.

You froze, unsure of how to respond. After a beat of silence, Alexia cleared her throat awkwardly. "Lo siento. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," you managed, but your voice sounded distant even to yourself.

She hung up shortly after, and you stared at your phone, guilt clawing at your chest. You texted her later, assuring her it was really was fine, and she replied with a simple Gracias.

But it wasn't fine. Not really.

You didn't know what to do with the feelings that resurfaced every time she said those three words. Part of you wanted to say them back, to dive headfirst into whatever this was and figure it out along the way. But another part of you was terrified—of getting hurt again, of hurting her, of making the same mistakes you'd made before.

So you kept things as they were: tentative, friendly, and painfully unresolved.

In London, life moved on. You found yourself leaning on Beth more and more. She had a way of distracting you from your thoughts, her constant chatter filling the empty spaces in your head.

"You're awfully quiet today," she said one afternoon as you walked to a café after training. "What's going on up there?"

"Nothing," you lied, forcing a smile.

Beth raised an eyebrow. "Liar. Is this about her again?"

You sighed, not bothering to deny it. Beth knew enough about your situation with Alexia to read between the lines.

"She texted me," you admitted.

"And?"

"And... we've been talking. Calling, too."

Beth stopped walking, turning to face you. "Okay, but what do you want from this? Do you want her back? Or do you just miss the idea of her?"

Her bluntness caught you off guard, but it was a question you'd been avoiding for weeks.

"I don't know," you said honestly. "I don't even know if I'm ready to figure that out."

Beth softened, placing a hand on your shoulder and squeezing softly. "Take your time, yeah? No one's rushing you. But don't string her along if you're not sure."

You nodded, appreciating her honesty even if it stung a little.

That night, Alexia called.

"Hola," she said, her voice bright. "How are you?"

"Good," you replied, settling onto your bed. "How's Barcelona?"

"Busy," she said, laughing lightly. "But good. I saw Mapi today. She asks about you."

"Tell her I said hi."

"I will."

The conversation flowed easily, as it often did now. You talked about training, upcoming matches, little things that didn't really matter but still felt important. As the call went on, you found yourself relaxing, the tension of the day melting away. Alexia had always had that effect on you—making the world feel a little less overwhelming, even if just for a moment.

When it was time to hang up, she hesitated.

"Goodnight," she said softly.

"Goodnight," you replied, waiting for the slip that you knew might come.

But this time, it didn't, and you didn't know how you felt about it.

"Sleep well," she said instead, her voice warm.

"You too," you said, hesitating for just a second before hanging up.

*

When you saw Alexia standing in the arrivals hall at Heathrow, everything inside you stilled. She looked the same as she always had. Calm, composed, effortlessly beautiful. But there was something else now, a nervousness in the way her eyes darted through the crowd, the way her hands fidgeted with the strap of her carry-on bag. When she saw you, a small smile lifted the corners of her mouth.

"Hola" she said softly, her voice almost lost in the noise of the airport.

"Hey," you replied, stepping closer.

She hesitated, her weight shifting from one foot to the other. You could tell she wasn't sure whether to hug you or not, and you made the decision for her, pulling her into a quick, firm embrace. She melted into it for just a moment before you stepped back, both of you retreating into the safety of polite distance.

"Long flight?" you asked, grabbing the handle of her suitcase and motioning for her to follow you toward the parking lot.

"Not so bad," she said, falling into step beside you. "I sleep through most of it."

The drive back to your flat was mostly quiet. The conversation was polite, surface-level, but it felt wrong, like you were strangers who barely knew each other instead of two people who had once shared everything.

"Do you have everything you need for your trip?" you asked at one point, eyes fixed on the road ahead.

Alexia nodded. "Sí, I do not think I will need much. It's mostly meetings. And maybe a bit of sightseeing, if there is time."

You hummed in acknowledgment, but you didn't press her further. You knew her tells too well to believe that this trip was purely business.

When you arrived at your flat, you offered her the guest room to settle into, and she disappeared inside with her suitcase. You busied yourself in the kitchen, reheating the pasta you'd left in the microwave earlier, trying to keep your hands steady as the weight of what lay ahead bore down on you.

When Alexia reappeared, she looked hesitant, like she wasn't sure where to sit or what to do.

"Dinner's ready," you said, nodding toward the small table.

"Gracias," she murmured, sitting down across from you.

The meal was simple, eaten mostly in silence except for the occasional comment about how good it was or how tired she felt from traveling.

After dinner, you both moved to the couch. Alexia sat at the far end, her hands nervously fidgeting in her lap. Her eyes darted around the room, as though searching for anything to ease the tension between you. The hesitation in her every movement reminded you of the last time you'd seen her, months ago in the tunnel before the Arsenal vs. Barça match. Except now, the space between you wasn't physical. It was everything unsaid, everything left unresolved.

You shifted slightly, clearing your throat. "We should probably... talk. About everything."

Alexia looked at you then, her lips parting before pressing together again. She nodded slowly. "Sí... I think so, too."

You tried to figure out where to start, running a hand through your hair. "Why did you come here, Ale?"

Her gaze dropped to her hands. "I told you... not only for you. But... you know."

Your lips quirked up at her obvious tell. "You're a terrible liar."

That made her look up, a faint flush rising to her cheeks. "Okay... maybe I come for you. But... I want to see how you are. In person."

"And?" you prompted softly, leaning forward slightly.

"And... I miss you," she admitted, her accent making the words heavier. "I say on the phone, but I miss you more... more than I can say."

Your heart clenched, a familiar ache creeping into your chest. "I miss you too, Alexia. But... we ended things for a reason. Do you remember why?"

Her brows furrowed. "Because... because we are not... how do you say? Good?"

You nodded. "We weren't in a good place. We were barely even talking by the end. Do you think that's changed? Just because we've had some time apart?"

Alexia was quiet for a moment, her hands tightening into fists. "I think... we have changed. I have changed. I think about you every day. And now... I talk with you again, and it feels good. Not like before."

Her words tugged at something inside you. "It feels good because we're not dealing with the hard stuff anymore, Ale. We've only talked about surface-level things. Football, our days, things like that. We haven't addressed the problems we had."

"But we can talk now," she insisted, scooting closer to you on the couch. "I want to talk. I want to... try again."

You sighed, leaning back. "Ale, it's not that simple. Trying again isn't just about wanting it to work. We have to figure out if we even can make it work."

She frowned, her fingers twitching as if she wanted to reach for you but held herself back. "You... you think we cannot?"

"I don't know," you admitted, feeling the weight of her gaze on you. "I really don't. I mean, I still love you—"

"You do?" she interrupted, her voice a mixture of surprise and hope.

You nodded, swallowing hard. "Of course I do. But love wasn't enough before, was it? We still ended up falling apart."

Alexia leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees as she looked down. "Because... because I was not good. Not... not there for you."

"It wasn't just you, Alexia," you said quickly. "I wasn't good either. I shut down when things got hard. I didn't fight for us like I should have."

She shook her head. "No, no... I should have fought more. For you. For us. I... I was scared. Scared I lose you, so I stay quiet. But that... that was wrong."

Her voice cracked on the last word, and you felt your heart break a little more. "We were both scared," you admitted. "But fear doesn't fix anything."

Alexia looked up then, her eyes glassy but determined. "So... we try again? No fear this time."

You hesitated, the logical part of your brain clashing with the part of you that wanted so desperately to pull her into your arms. "What if we fail again?" you whispered.

"Then we fail," she said simply. "But at least... at least we know we try. No... regrets."

Her words hung in the air, and you realized just how much you wanted to believe her. To believe that you could try again and make it work this time.

After a long pause, you reached out, your fingers brushing hers. "Okay," you said softly. "We can try. But we have to promise to talk this time. About everything. No shutting down."

Alexia's hand turned to clasp yours tightly. "I promise. No... no more hiding. We talk, always.”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. "And no more avoiding each other when things get tough."

"Sí. No more," she agreed, a hint of a smile breaking through her serious expression.

For the first time in months, the weight on your chest felt a little lighter. You squeezed her hand, and without thinking, you leaned forward, wrapping your arms around her. Alexia froze for a second before she melted into you, her arms tightening around your waist.

*

The week Alexia stayed with you passed in a haze of soft moments and cautious steps forward. Neither of you were trying to rush anything, and maybe that was what made it feel so different this time. There was no pressure to immediately fix everything or pretend like the last few months hadn't happened. You were starting fresh, and it felt... right.

Alexia fit into your small London flat in a way that surprised you. She had her little routines: making coffee in the morning with a focus so intense you'd think she was preparing for a match, leaving her jacket casually draped over the back of the chair despite your protests, and humming softly under her breath as she scrolled through her phone. It was so familiar, yet so new.

You spent most of the week together, rediscovering the rhythm of just being in each other's presence. Sometimes you went out, grabbing coffee or walking through the bustling streets of London. Other times, you stayed in, talking about anything and everything—or just sitting together in a comfortable silence.

Alexia did have meetings, and while she insisted they were important, you quickly pieced together that most of them could have been handled remotely. When she wasn't with you, she was calling someone from Barça or scrolling through emails. But her focus always seemed to shift back to you, and it became clear she hadn't come to London because of work. She had come for you.

On her last full day in London, you decided to introduce her to Beth. It wasn't a decision you'd made lightly, but Beth had been your closest confidante during your time at Arsenal, and part of you wanted her to see this side of your life. Alexia had been such a big part of it for so long, and though it felt strange to merge the two worlds, you wanted to try.

Beth greeted you both with her usual warmth, pulling you into a hug before giving Alexia a curious, appraising glance. "So, you're the infamous Alexia," she said, her tone teasing but kind.

Alexia smiled shyly. "I... guess so. Nice to meet you, Beth."

Beth grinned. "Likewise. Heard a lot about you, you know."

Alexia glanced at you, a faint blush creeping up her neck. "Good things... I hope?"

Beth winked at you. "Mostly good."

The three of you settled into an easy rhythm, and you were relieved to see how naturally Alexia interacted with Beth. It wasn't forced or awkward; it was as if they'd known each other for ages. When Leah arrived unexpectedly at Beth's apartment, though, that quickly changed.

"Leah," you greeted softly, stepping forward slightly.

"Hi," she replied, her tone polite but guarded. Her gaze lingered on Alexia for a beat too long before she glanced back at you. "Didn't know you were bringing... company."

Alexia offered Leah a polite nod. "Hello. I am Alexia."

Leah hesitated for half a second before nodding back. "Leah. Nice to meet you."

The atmosphere was tense, and you felt the weight of it pressing against your chest. "I'll, uh, help Beth in the kitchen," you mumbled, slipping away to give Leah and Alexia a moment to adjust to each other's presence.

Beth cornered you the moment you were out of earshot. "Well, this is awkward, isn't it?"

"Beth," you hissed, narrowing your eyes at her.

"I'm just saying," she teased, her voice low. "You're brave, I'll give you that."

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. "Can we just... not make this harder than it already is?"

Beth softened at your obvious distress. "Okay, okay. I'll play nice. But Leah—"

"I'll handle it," you interrupted quickly, not wanting to dwell on the topic.

When it was time to leave, you pulled Leah aside. You'd been hesitant about how to approach her all day, but you couldn't leave without saying something.

"Hey," you said softly, stopping her just as she was about to head back into the kitchen.

Leah turned to you, her expression unreadable. "Yeah?"

You didn't think too hard about it. Instead, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around her. At first, she didn't respond, but then her arms came up to hug you back, albeit briefly.

"I'm sorry," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

"For what?" she asked, pulling back to look at you.

"For everything," you admitted. "For hurting you. For how things ended. For... bringing Alexia here."

Leah's lips twitched into a faint smile. "It's okay. Really. I've moved on."

You nodded, though the guilt still lingered in your chest. "You're still one of my closest friends, Leah. I hope you know that."

"I do," she said, her voice soft but steady. "And I'm happy for you, by the way. If she makes you happy, then that's all that matters."

You hugged her one last time before returning to Alexia, who was waiting by the door. Her gaze flicked between you and Leah, her jaw tightening ever so slightly.

"Ready?" you asked, grabbing your coat.

Alexia nodded, but as you walked to the car, she finally broke her silence. "She is... important to you?"

You glanced at her, surprised by the question. "Leah? Yeah, she is. We're good friends."

Alexia's expression didn't change, but you caught the subtle shift in her posture. "You were... more than friends before, no?"

You sighed, unlocking the car. "Yeah, we were. For a while."

"And now?" she pressed, her voice carefully neutral.

"Now we're just friends," you said firmly, turning to face her. "That's all, Ale."

Alexia nodded, though you could tell it hadn't entirely eased her mind. "Okay."

That night, the weight of her impending departure settled over you both. After dinner, you found yourselves back on the couch, sitting closer than you had at the start of the week. Alexia's hand rested on your knee, her thumb tracing absent patterns through the fabric of your joggers.

"I don't want to leave," she admitted suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper.

You looked at her, a soft smile gracing your lips. "I don't want you to leave either."

She smiled sadly. "But we have to talk. About... how we do this.”

You nodded, shifting to face her more fully. "Yeah. Long distance isn't easy."

"No," she agreed. "But... I think we can do it. If we try."

You hesitated. "Ale, I'm not leaving Arsenal. Not anytime soon."

"I know," she said quickly. "And I... I cannot leave Barça. It is my home."

"I'd never ask you to," you assured her. "But that means we'd only see each other... what? A handful of times a year?"

Her brows furrowed as she thought. "Not so few. We can make time. I can come here, or you come to Barcelona... in breaks."

"And what about during the season?" you asked. "We'd both be so busy. Training, games, travel. How would we make it work then?"

Alexia bit her lip. "We talk. Every day, if we can. And when we cannot... we know we are still together. We trust each other."

It sounded simple, almost too simple. But the determination in her voice made you pause. "You really think that's enough?"

Her hand slid up to cup your cheek, her thumb brushing softly against your skin. "I think... if we want this, we find a way. You and me... we are worth it."

The sincerity in her words made your chest ache. You leaned into her touch, closing your eyes for a moment. "I want this," you admitted. "I want us."

Alexia's lips curved into a small, hopeful smile. "Then we try."

You nodded, opening your eyes to meet hers. "We try."

She leaned forward then, her forehead resting against yours. The moment was quiet, intimate, and filled with a sense of hope you hadn't felt in a long time. You didn't know if this would work, but for the first time, you believed it was worth the effort.

**

Tags:

@ceesimz @marysfics @girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @simp4panos @silentwolfsstuff @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan

[eskumii]

yandere!genin!sasuke uchiha + darling who's secretly half uchiha hcs

TITLE: " LIKE WATER, LIKE BLOOD " — navi. — general yandere!sasuke hcs.

NOTES: i've been randomly feinin over naruto again and this idea just won't leave me alone :'D don't press me on lore specific stuff i just yap and pretend it's true ok. also i accidently posted this b4 it was finished ... if you read that, no u didn't.

☆ you're no stranger to the fact that your mother had an affair with an uchiha man a few years before the entire clan was slaughtered like cows. your father had been a high-ranking official in fugaku's inner circle, but you had never learned his name, even when he secretly visited you and your mother on weekends between his missions and clan dealings.

☆ this is not to say, of course, that he was a bad man. he often tried to instill core uchiha values into you (never dishonor the uchiha clan name, always seek to carry on its legacy and strength, etc..) but nothing ever seemed to stick. you were more interested in the little trinkets he would bring you: necklaces, bracelets, hair ribbons, hand fans, and various other accessories that were often branded with the uchiha symbol. none of it was ever worn out in public, though, so you just hung them on your walls instead.

☆ after your father's death, you eventually distanced yourself from the uchiha side of your identity as it had always been steeped in secrecy and the fear of scrutiny from the third hokage/konoha elders/villagers who felt strongly about the nine tails attack. after all, you aren't supposed to exist. you're not sure what your mother was thinking when she got knocked up at such a politically fragile time, when the uchiha clan were still under fire for conspiracy and treason.

☆ at the academy, you intentionally avoid sasuke. you've probably spoken to him a handful of times—many of which were him telling you to get out of his way, or to shut up if you were talking too loud with your friends (your assigned seat was directly behind his, unfortunately).

☆ it isn't until much later after you graduate from the academy and are placed into teams that sasuke somehow finds out you're also an uchiha. whether someone told him or he just... knew, you do not know. at this point, you haven't seen him in months (you're on different teams), so him appearing on the landing outside of your open window is a very startling jumpscare.

☆ he takes one look around your room, which has uchiha merch strung up all over the place, and is immediately pissed at you. all this time there was another surviving member of his clan and he had no clue? and it was you, of all people?

☆ sasuke always thought you were weird and suspicious during your days at the academy. whenever he interacted with you, you would cower from him, almost looking ashamed. you were adept at everything he was and, as much as he used to hate admitting it, you were often his competition when it came to scoring at the top of various skill tests. looking back, it all makes sense: the blood in your veins is special, as uchiha children often are. as he is. and now, instead of callousness, he feels a kindling of pride at your excellence.

☆ it takes no time at all for everything to change between you and sasuke. after he barges his way into your room (you don't how he found out where you live in the first place?!), he forces you to explain why you lied about being an uchiha. you have no choice but to comply after his threatening glares pin you into submission and he refuses to let you past him until you talk.

☆ sasuke really doesn't care that you're a "half uchiha." you descended directly from a member of the uchiha clan so as far as he's concerned, you're his kin through and through. this discovery immediately sparks something primal in sasuke, like a desprate clinging to preserve what has been, and to protect what can be.

☆ you're often dragged away to secluded places by sasuke—the training grounds, usually. you try to fight but sasuke is just stronger than you and you are easily wrestled into defeat; a reoccuring pattern that makes you feel unsafe around him. but despite your growing feelings of contempt towards sasuke, he is brutally relentless in his pursuit of you or, rather, his pursuit of molding you into a proud uchiha who is willing to restore the legacy of his clan with him.

☆ the uchiha boy is a little worried that you lack so many of the values that he himself has been taught by his parents and itachi. you don't know much about the sharingan nor the clan's signature great fireball technique. so he starts there.

☆ let's be honest though: you're not interested in being lectured on the history of the clan by sasuke, but you're not entirely opposed to learning a new jutsu so you allow him to train you for now. whenever you mess up or ask too many questions, he'll sigh in very clear annoyance but bites back any insult as a mercy to you.

☆ you notice how much more patient he is towards you. how he quietly praises you when your little flame grows, how he immediately checks on you when you're winded from using too much chakra. there's a general closeness that never existed before (sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, physically guiding your hands into signs, or poking your forehead when you say or do something he thinks is dumb). it's all strangely... intimate.

☆ the frequency of his visits begin to increase as the days go by, and there were a few times where you would wake up in the middle of the night to see him standing over you. obviously, this scares you, and you have to keep sasuke's sudden intrusions into your bedroom a secret from your mother, so you begrudgingly agree to his strict schedule of meeting at his apartment at least four times a week instead of him breaking into yours.

☆ in the following months, you see a side of sasuke that you're sure no one else has seen. one that isn't carefree, but deeply emotional and reactive, especially when it comes to you. soon enough, he reveals his plan of revenge against itachi to you. you're shocked that he would go to such a length, and the sentiment is not shared by you at all.

☆ before sasuke leaves the village, he of course tries to convince you to come with him. you aren't a fool, though. despite settling into your uchiha heritage at this point, you're no destined avenger. you followed along with sasuke's strange intrusion into your life thus far, but this is where you draw the line. you refuse.

☆ "no? what the hell, [name]? you're an uchiha." he'll spit heatedly, arresting you by the hand when you turn to walk away from him. "your duty now is to kill itachi and restore our clan. don't think for a second that you can just run away from this. from me."

☆ and... he's right. one way or another, you find yourself a traitor to konoha for the sake of the blood that binds you to sasuke. what happened to his family, he won't let happen to you. this time, he's the one who'll kill to protect the one he loves, even if you hate him for doing it against your will.

[ambivalence-is-me]

Your Power (3)

Pairing: Azriel x reader

Summary: You made it out of the meeting with Azriel and the Inner Circle. They wanted to work with you, but how was it going to work? It seemed impossible with the crush you seem to be developing on the Shadowsinger.

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: none

A/N: This is 3 months late, I know I know. Forgive me but I haven't forgotten about this story! I'm hoping this month I can get more parts out so don't give up on me pls. Dont forget to comment and let me know what you think! Thank you for the feedback!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A Remembrance Day... 

A day meant for remembering all of the lives that were lost to the war. Remember, honor and grieve for them. Five years too late but it was better than to continue like it never happened. 

Right?  

That was better than any idea you had. You just wanted it to be acknowledged, that a major event happened to a whole freaking city and left them, left you traumatized. And trauma needed to be acknowledged and healed, not shoved away.  

It was going to be a big day, major really. The idea is for every citizen of Velaris to attend and pay their respects. The logistics and details?  

‘’Gather people who will be willing to work for this. Create a team, have a meeting and lead them.’’  

Rhysand had said back at that cozy-not-formal-at-all room in the Library. Wait, did they expect you to do everything? It was their idea! They can’t just throw everything at you! Well, they can but... 

‘’We will be right there with you, every step of the way.’’ Feyre said, noticing the look on your face. She smiled ‘’Anything you need, you tell us, and we’ll get it done.’’ 

It made sense for you to be the one to gather the people. They didn’t know them, didn't know your neighbors, your co-workers, the old fae who owned a bakery down the street from you who also lost someone to the war, the people who made the city.. Velaris. But they knew you.  

‘’How am I supposed to convince them?  I’m so...awkward and I talk to much sometimes.’’ You expressed your worry to your sister-in-law the next morning after your encounter with the Inner Circle.  

She gave you a look in return that said ‘’only sometimes?’’ But she knew what you meant, it was a valid worry to have.  

‘’I doubt you would need to convince them, Y/N. We’re all on the same page here, if they see how much this means to you, they will join.’’ She gave you her best reassuring smile, her body language seemingly relaxed. She had no doubt that you were the perfect person for the job. And the Inner Circle knew it too.  

And they were right.  

On your way to work, you made some stops at some shops, talked to the owners and asked them to meet with you in two days' time at the Library. Some had looked skeptical but after telling them what it was about, they instantly agreed. The majority though, had agreed right away. It made you feel all warm and happy inside, to know they respected you enough to take you seriously for this. You only hoped it would continue to go smoothly.  

You opted not to mention that the high lord and high lady would be there. If some of them were anything like you, they would decline out of fear. Or maybe they wouldn't have, and it would have motivated them, who knows but you didn't mention their assistance and hope it didn't come and bite you in the ass.  

You did that for the rest of the day and when the sun started to go down, you closed the shop and made your way home. A sigh of relief leaving your lips that the day was almost over. You needed to seriously organize if you were going to juggle this event plus work plus your family all at the same time. Thinking about how you were going to do that, you failed to notice someone had joined your walk and was walking beside you.  

‘’You should really pay more attention to your surroundings’.  

The scream that left your mouth would’ve put a scared child to shame. You moved your hands frantically as if looking for something to hit or push, preferably the someone who had scared you. But it wasn't just anyone, no.. 

It was a 6’2ft tan, Illyrian warrior whose wings could easily hide someone, with the most beautiful hazel eyes that made you feel all sorts of things... like distress at the moment.  

Your heart was beating so fast you were sure he could hear it. You spoke before you could analyze what had just occurred. 

‘’What the heck is wrong with you?!’’  

He couldn't hide his amusement, a small smile on the corner of his mouth. His shadows flew circles around you as if they were too laughing at you. His response to your outburst was to raise an eyebrow.  

Which quickly made you stop your walking and realize that you had just screamed at the freaking Shadowsinger and Spymaster of the Night Court.  

Great. 

If he thought you had a death wish well, there was no way to prove him wrong.  

You shook your head and managed to get out a ‘’I-I’m sorry. I’m not actually implying there's something wrong with you! You just scared me, you appeared out of freaking nowhere, I didn't even hear you!’’.  

‘’I’m a spy, it's part of my job’’. 

Right yes, that made sense. What didn't make sense is why he was walking you home when you’ve seen him just the day before. Your thoughts went..there. 

Did they regret your alliance (if you could call it that) and now wanted to kill you? Perhaps the High Lord thought you would squeak to everyone how he had apologized and now wanted your head.  

‘’I’m not going to murder you, Y/N’’. If Azriel wouldn't have found the situation amusing, he would actually feel disappointed that you still managed to think they- he was going to hurt you.  

He said your name. Out loud. You couldn't remember him saying it out loud and Mother did you love the way it sounded coming from him. Gods, you felt pathetic.  

You exhaled. ‘’ I know that.’’ Clearing your throat and looking away from his pretty eyes, you asked him, trying to understand what was happening . ‘’What are you doing here?’’.  

He found that he didn't like when you weren't looking at him. He enjoyed observing your expressions and figuring out what you were thinking. Not that there was much to figure out since you were an open book. He slowly resumed the walk, waiting for you to catch up before replying.  

‘’Feyre sent me to check how it went with gathering the troops.’’  

A lie. Nor Feyre or Rhys had sent him but you didn't know that. You didn't need to know that he enjoyed your company, it was refreshing. He enjoyed that you didn't know anything about him except his title, enjoyed that you didn't even try to know his business and every step he took.  It was also great to be away from so many happy couples when he didn’t have that. And you didn’t either.  

Troops. He made it sound like you were going into battle, jeez.  

You were glad you weren't looking at him so he couldn't see the small quirk in your face that revealed you were hurt. It hurt you a little to know that he was only there with you because he was ordered to.  

Well, what other reason did he have? None, to you at least. Besides this ‘’job’’, there was nothing else you could offer him, nothing else that tied you together.  

‘’Right.’’ You cleared your throat once again and resumed walking with him next to you.  

‘’It went well. I think’’ You fidgeted with your fingers. ‘’The majority said they would go to the meeting. Not sure if all of them will help with anything but I’m hopeful they’ll at least attend.’’  

He nodded. ‘’Anyone we should be worried about?’’ 

The thought made you chuckle, and you looked at him. ‘’If you think an old baker with an affinity to touch everything is a threat, then yes. You should be worried.’’ You motioned to his siphons that seemed to glow exceptionally pretty against the light of the sunset. ‘’I would put those away just in case.’’  

The smile you gave him made him feel..things. Things he hadn’t felt since he lost his chance with a certain Archeron sister. Things that made him want to get you to smile like that again.  

‘’Noted.’’  

You nodded and looked away from him to pay attention to the street. Knowing your luck, you would trip over air and fall on your face in front of him. Thankfully that didn’t happen.  

You didn’t have a clue what was supposed to happen next to be frank. The conversation seemed to be over since you told him what he was there for.  

So, why did he continue to walk you home? You didn't know if he knew that was were you were headed but he still accompanied you for the rest of the walk.  

You wondered how it must've looked. A 5’5ft nervous, average looking female walking next to a 6’2ft handsome male with wings on the streets of Velaris. With the sun going down behind them. Did it look as silly as you felt?  

Nonetheless, you decided to stop questioning it because it only made your head hurt and spent the rest of the walk enjoying his quiet company and listening to the buzz of the streets around you. His silence wasn't uncomfortable, which surprised you. You often felt uncomfortable around people you didn't know and especially if they weren’t yapping your ear out like you would often do.  

No, you quite enjoyed the peace his silence provided. It was also different from the silence that often accompanied you in your office, if Sabrina wasn’t conversing with you about anything.  

This was...nice. You hoped he wasn’t feeling awkward.  

He wasn’t. Azriel was also enjoying it. Although secretly, he liked it more when you were talking to him. Which is why, once you’d made it to your house, he noticed the different house materials thrown around and asked.  

‘’Renovating?’’  

You cursed under your breath and sighed. Of course, he noticed the state of your messy house. Like you promised to yourself, you started working on the backyard finally and noticed you were missing stuff so you bought them and instead of placing it where it belongs in the backyard, you had thrown it in front of your front door (quite literally) because you were late to work.  

You had forgotten about it until now.  

‘’Umm, something like that?’’ You rushed to open your front door so you could push the materials inside. Something you should've done that morning in the first place.  

‘’I’m actually making this..thing. Like a patio? On my backyard. These are just some things I left here by accident.’’ You said while pushing some of it inside with your foot.  

Noticing how heavy a particular item was, Azriel picked it up and asked: ‘’Where to?’’.  

You only looked at him, flabbergasted, all words seem to fly over your head. ‘’Um--’’ 

He smiled internally, feeling glad he was able to make you feel whatever it was you felt. He raised an eyebrow, an amusing look in his eyes appearing once again.  

Right. ‘’Just-you can put it here in the living room, its fine.’’ You motioned inside and stepped away so he could walk in. Praying to the Mother that the inside of your house was decent. You couldn't remember if you had put away the clean clothes.. 

But he knew that’s not where the item was supposed to go so he suggested ‘’I can put it outside if it’s gonna be easier for you’’.  

And indeed, it would be easier for you but that would also entail having him walk all the way to your backyard which was an even bigger mess. Plus, it would mean a couple more minutes with him. Did you want that? 

Obviously. But you tried not to show it.  

‘’Um- sure. Yeah, thanks that would be great.’’  

And you would never forget the scene of him trying to walk through your house with his wings, not wanting to collide with anything.  

Trying to contain your amusement, you quickly stepped up and showed him the way to your backyard. Thankful he couldnt see your face.  

‘’Here it's fine.’’ 

You said once you made it outside to your yard. Motioning to the other supplies on the floor.  

He nodded and placed it next to them. He took a look around your backyard and gave you a single nod. ‘’Looks like a big project.’’  

‘’It is.’’ You nodded and also looked around. Your brother’s face and enthusiasm to be a part of it popped in your brain, dampening your mood for a second. 

Azriel saw it and he wanted to ask, really wanted to ask about the reason of your expression but held back. He didn't know you and you didn't know him. And he clearly made you nervous, so he wasn’t going to push it.  

At this point, you didn't know what else to do or say so you looked at him and said ‘’Well, thank you. Um- you can tell the High Lady that everyone will be there.’’ 

Accepting this as a goodbye, for now, he nodded and said ‘’Goodnight’’.  

And that was all you got before he disappeared. Literally.  

Eyebrows raised, widened eyes, you spinned and looked everywhere for him. He just...disappeared?  

Well, then.  

At least you made it. You actually managed a normal conversation with Azriel. Right? That was considered normal.  

If this interaction was a preview of what was to come, you needed to be prepared of anything and everything. Including your surroundings, clearly.  

[passionwillow]

You Aren't Leaving My Sight Anymore

Hello loves. ☺️ I had a request for a reader going into anaphylactic shock with either Street or Deacon in it. I have so much love for Deacon, so he'll be our guy today. Thank you all for the requests! Sorry if this is a little short.

Warnings: Allergic reaction, angst? I think. Just a lot of worrying and fluff and panic.

You scanned your badge at the entrance of S.W.A.T HQ and walked through the door, smiling and waving to familiar faces on your way. Your boots thumped steadily on the floor as you made your way to your desk, setting your bag down and taking a seat behind the black counter.

You'd started working here three years ago, filing reports and taking care of the paperwork trail cases like these required. Everyone welcomed you with open arms, even people from the SWAT teams taking the time to stop by and greet you. That was how you met David "Deacon" Kay.

Deac had stopped by on your second day to welcome you, and you guys spent the next hour talking like you knew each other for years. It wasn't long before you guys had a first date, then a second, then you were dating.

You got to meet his kids and they absolutely loved you. It was a year later you moved in, and you'd been together almost 3 years now and everything had been perfect.

You logged into your computer and answered a few emails, texting back and forth with Deac about dinner and date plans you guys had. You looked up as Chris approached, smiling and handing you a white paper bag. "Cinnamon raisin bagel, extra cream cheese" You took the bag with a grin and shook your head, humming happily as you opened it.

"Thanks, Chris. Be safe today, okay?" Chris nodded and waved as she walked off further into the building, and you picked off pieces of the warm bagel with as you worked through emails. You and Chris had hit it off as good friends soon after you were hired, and she loved watching the kids when you and Deacon had dates. You were always taking turns grabbing breakfast for each other during the week.

You turned in your chair to grab some paperwork from your filing cabinet, when you noticed it was getting a little harder to breathe. You coughed and cleared your throat, but the tightness in your throat increased and your heart started to race as you grabbed at your throat, breath wheezing.

Donovan Rocker buzzed in and walked into the building, nodding to a few people and approaching your desk with a smile, steps faltering as you saw your red, blotchy skin and the fear in your eyes. "Hey, Y/N? You alright?" You clawed at your throat and the panic set it completely, body trembling as you slipped from the chair and fell to the floor. "Shit- Help! Anyone, get the doctor!"

Donovan's bag dropped to the floor as he yelled at everyone nearby, rushing around the desk and grabbing a hold of you, hands cupping your face. "Hey, just try to breathe, okay? Relax, help is coming." His eyes looked over you in a rush, trying to find any reason for your current state. Your face was going blue and he knew he were really struggling to get any air.

His head whipped towards you desk, eyes falling on the bagel sitting on the white napkin. "Shit." He breathed out softly, and jumped back up, running around to his duffle bag and searching through it, pulling out an epi-pen.

He stood and started back to you when Deacon came running around the corner, brown eyes wide with fear. "Where is she? What's wrong?" Rocker said nothing as he ran back to you, Deacon following and crouching down, hands on your face. "Baby? Can you hear me? Come on - stay with me, we got you."

Rocker popped the cap on the epi-pen and didn't hesitate as he drove it in your leg, injecting you and whispering. "Come on, please work." The tightness in your chest eased, the relief spreading to your throat as you inhaled sharply, Deacon's eyes wide as he brushed your hair back, gathering you up and holding you to his chest.

"Christ, Y/N, what happened?" You gathered your breath and held to Deacon's blue jacket, voice raspy and weak. "I don't.. I don't know. I was eating and then-.. then I couldn't breathe." Rocker watched you both with relief, shoulders sagging. "It was an allergy. You had a really bad reaction." Deacon looked at him and swallowed hard, nodding a quiet thank you as he pulled you further into his chest, whispering. "We need to get you to the hospital. Make sure you're already.

You looked up at Deacon and nodded, pressing a kiss to his cheek and sitting up a little. "I can take myself, you shouldn't miss work." Deacon stood and pulled you with him, supporting you and shaking his head. "Like hell you are. I'm not letting you out of my sight anymore."

You cracked a smile and held onto him, legs still shaky and weak as you nodded and looked at Rocker. "Can you tell Chris this wasn't her fault? I'm sure she feels like hell.. And thank you for saving me." Rocker smiled and nodded as he gathered his bag, eyes twinkling with amusement. "Anytime, Y/L/N."

Deacon watched the other man leave and snorted, looking at you and cupping your cheek. "Do you know what that just did for his ego?" You leaned into his touch and laughed, hugging him close and mumbling. "That's what I get for eating a damn bagel."

[aesthetically-dying101]

Unwritten Terms and Conditions.

A/N: first time i post on tumblr (lawd im spooked), anyways this is completely new? Um... yeah.. i hope y'all will like this?

WC: 10900 i think.

Nanami Kento x reader.

So uh... rivals to lovers (they hate each other your honor), office romance (nanami is the OG office siren idc)... the works. Very innacurate work, innacurate office relations, innacurate portrayal of a job. Innacurate overall babes. I'm not actually sure of whatt i've written. so um.. yeah, i hope y'all will like this. I'm double posting on tumblr/ao3 so ye

Might have a part two with smut.

The elevator dinged.

11th floor

And you stepped out.

The polished floors of the office gleamed under the fluorescent lights as you strode in, head held high, walking with the kind of confidence that made every pair of eyes in the room glance your way.

Every step was deliberate, the sleek pencil skirt hugging your form, tailored to perfection, the crisp white blouse tucked neatly at your waist.

This wasn't just any office job, it was a place for the best and brightest, and you intended to show them that you deserved to be there. 

No room for mediocrity in your world.

It was the job—the coveted position in a company known for demanding excellence. Only the best survived here, and you intended to thrive, and anyways, you knew you would. 

The conference room was filled with the murmurs of your new colleagues as you all gathered for the morning briefing. As you entered the glass-walled conference room, the hum of conversation faded.

Here you stood, in a board room full of new faces, you were being introduced by the team head.

Rina Takahashi.

She was a strict looking woman, her black hair pulled into a perfectly structured bun (which you admired because wow that thing was flawless). She was part of a board of superiors- your new board of superiors.

The room was filled with top-tier professionals—sharp suits, calculating eyes, the kind of people who lived for the thrill of competition. Their gazes flicked toward you, curiosity sharpening into something keener.

There was a hush when you entered, the kind that makes you feel like the world suddenly turned its attention toward you. You knew exactly what they were thinking: Who is she? It wasn’t arrogance—it was confidence.

There was a difference.

All eyes were on the new blood, and you weren’t about to disappoint.

“Everyone,” Rina said sharply, raising a hand to silence the group. “This is the newest member of the team. Let’s make sure we show her what it means to work with the best."

You offered a polite smile, a subtle nod, and then turned your attention back to the group.

Your eyes racked on each member of the team you were being allocated to, until they landed on a man.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, and impeccably dressed in a charcoal-gray suit, the kind that looked effortlessly expensive. His blond hair was neatly combed back, glasses sitting on his nose, and he sat with an air of quiet detachment. 

And then, his eyes met yours.

You didn’t look away first.

For a moment, he just stared, silent, calculating. Something flickered in his gaze, but he quickly masked it, turning his attention back to the meeting.

That was your first real introduction to Nanami Kento.

-

The following weeks at the company were a blur of meetings, presentations, and endless deadlines, you were given an office (that you were allowed to customise whichever way you wanted- hooray). You learned quickly that Nanami was a figure to be reckoned with. He was one of the senior executives, respected and feared by most, and it didn’t take long for you to realise that he didn’t like you.

AKA, he was annoying, and you weren't going to let him walk all over you. You sure as hell weren't going to let a stuck up- way too pretty man- 'beat' you- the guy had a broom stuck up his ass. 

It wasn’t that he outright dismissed you—no, he wasn’t that brash.

Of course not.

But there was always a coolness in his words, a sort of professional indifference that grated against you. Every time you spoke in meetings, he’d watch you with narrowed eyes, making a point to subtly counter your suggestions with his own.

You had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes every time.

And you? You weren’t about to back down. Every time he challenged you, every time his voice grew just a little colder, you met him with equal fire. You had your own ideas, your own vision, and you weren’t afraid to show them.

Nanami’s voice cut through the conference room during a particularly heated meeting:

"While I respect your enthusiasm, I think it would be more practical to approach this from a different angle. Your strategy is—" He paused, tapping his pen against the table with a faint sigh. "—risky, and we can’t afford that right now."

Your eyes narrowed.

“I’m aware of the risks, Mr. Nanami,” you replied, your voice calm but firm. “But sometimes, in order to achieve the best results, we need to take risks. Otherwise, we’re just playing it safe, and that’s not how we move forward.”

The tension was papable, the other members looking between the two of you like a sort of weird tenis match.

You held his gaze. 

He didn’t like being contradicted, but there was something in your conviction that made him hesitate. He couldn’t argue with your logic, even if it stung his pride a little.

"Let’s table this for now," Rina said, her voice cutting through the tension. "We’ll revisit it later."

-

You came in everyday twenty minutes early, 7:30 am sharp, dressed to a T, heals clicking on the floor as you greeted the couple other early colleges. A fresh cup of coffee in hand as you walked down the main hall to your office. You looked incredibly put together and organised- almost rivalling Nanami. 

Actually no, you definitely rivalled Nanami.

Today was special- your first monthly team meeting with the higher ups. Everyone sat around the large oval table, the higher ups went over the numbers, the documents.. everything.

And then it happened.

"And of course, a special thanks to our new hire." Rina gestured towards you, a soft smile on her face. "Who's work has been nothing short of remarkable."

The higher ups nodded and agreed with her.

Mentally, you were dancing on the oval table, mocking Nanami.

In the real world, you simply nodded, smiled and shrugged:

"Of course, the workload is manageable."

Okay so you were petty- who cares? It felt good to have your work openly praised, especially by the superiors, and even more in front of everyone.

The meeting went on, and you could feel Nanami's presence beside you, unwavering, yet somehow… distant. He remained composed, his focus never wavering, as he took note of the discussions around the table. You couldn't help but notice the slight furrow of his brow when Rina mentioned your name. It was subtle, but you caught it. Was that… surprise? Annoyance? You couldn't tell, and honestly, you didn't care. You were too busy relishing in the praise from the higher-ups.

After the meeting ended, you couldn't help but sneak a glance at Nanami as everyone stood up, getting ready to leave. You packed up your things with a smug little smile, knowing that you had outperformed him. You walked past him on your way to the door, but his voice stopped you before you could leave. 

You reached for the door, your hand already on the handle, when his voice sliced through the quiet hum of the office.

“Impressive.”

"Hm?" You barely turned, looking over your shoulder. "What was that?"

Nanami was standing by the table, his fingers drumming lightly on the edge of a notebook. The air between you both felt thick with the aftermath of the meeting, though you didn’t let on how much you were enjoying the subtle victory. His eyes were fixed on you, but there was no warmth in his gaze—only the faintest flicker of something you couldn't quite place.

"Your presentation," he continued, his tone carefully neutral, though there was an almost imperceptible tension in his posture. "It was… concise. Well-organized.

"Thank you. I do aim to please." Your words were casual, almost teasing, as you took a step toward the door. The tension you’d been feeling in the room seemed to hang in the air like a charged electrical current.

You could feel him watching you. You weren't going to let him have the satisfaction of knowing how much that small comment affected you.

As you reached for the door again, his next words came, just low enough for only you to hear.

“Don’t get too comfortable.”

You paused, hand still on the handle, heart skipping a beat. His voice, even when laced with barely contained ice, held a certain quality that made your pulse quicken.

“I’m just getting started.” You didn’t look back as you stepped out, your heels clicking sharply against the floor as you walked away, knowing that Nanami’s eyes were still on you.

Nanami watched you walk out of the room, the sound of your heels echoing down the hallway like a taunt. His mind replayed your words, your smile, the way you’d seemed to take pleasure in every inch of that moment.

When you went back into your small office, Aiko, one of your team members, gave a little knock and popped her head in.

"Holy shit- congrats!!"

You tried to play it cool- only grinning in response, on the inside though, you felt so damn smug and good.

Aiko's face lit up with excitement, her dark eyes sparkling as she grinned at you. She wasn't exactly subtle—she practically vibrated with enthusiasm. 

"Y'know, I really thought Nanami was gonna fuckin' implode. He's the only one that usually gets that type of praise. He looked like someone told him the stock market crashed. I don't I've ever seen him move his face like that- his eyebrow twitched! And he blinked- liked twice- that's insane!"

A laugh bubbled out before you could stop it, and you pressed a hand over your mouth, trying to look composed. "His eyebrow twitched? Really?"

"Twice! It was like watching a machine glitch. You might actually be the first person to ever rattle him." She leaned forward conspiratorially. "I think he's starting to realize you're not just here to make up the numbers."

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "I'm just doing my job."

But inside? Oh, inside, you were practically glowing. Rattling Nanami Kento, the man who seemed more robot than human, felt like a victory worth savouring.

-

It had been two weeks since the meeting. Two weeks since you’d walked past Nanami with that smug little smile, and he still couldn’t get the image out of his mind. He found himself replaying that moment. The confidence in your stride, the glint of triumph in your eyes—it haunted him.

He didn’t want it to.

He prided himself on being composed, measured, immune to the trivial distractions of office politics or—he scoffed at the thought—office flirtations. Yet here he was, leaning against his desk, staring blankly at a report that should have had his full attention, while you occupied too much space in his mind.

Every morning- 7:30 sharp, when he heard the sharp click of your heels in the hallway, he tensed, anticipating your arrival. He didn’t understand why his heart raced in those moments. 

Like everyday since those three months that you had joined the company, Nanami didn’t need to check the clock. He knew it was exactly 7:30. His hand hovered over the report in front of him, pen poised, but the words blurred into a meaningless haze.

He hated it. How ridiculous, juvenile even.

And yet—there it was. 

Every. Damn. Day.

When you appeared in the doorway, your smile was as sharp as ever.

“Good morning, Nanami,” you said, your tone light, but there was an edge to it—a challenge.

“Good morning,” he replied stiffly, not looking up from the report in front of him. He refused to give you the satisfaction of seeing how tightly he gripped his pen.

"Hope you had a lovely evening." You quipped. "By the way-" You gently dropped a file on his desk, next to his hand- such a pretty hand- "Here you go." 

Nanami’s gaze flicked briefly to the file, then back to the report in front of him, refusing to acknowledge the way your fingers had brushed the edge of his desk—close enough to touch. He hated that he noticed the soft scent you carried, something faintly floral, delicate. He loathed the way it lingered.

“What is this?” he asked, voice steady but clipped.

“Updated figures,” you replied sweetly, your tone all innocence. “I thought I’d save you the trouble of finding the errors. I know how thorough you like to be.”

Nanami’s jaw tightened. That smug little smile, the one that made his pulse spike despite himself, was still playing at the corners of your lips. He could already feel the burn of irritation coiling in his chest. 

You were insufferable

Like a child who found a new noisy, light up toy, and kept waving it around.

His eyes flicked back to the file on his desk, though he didn’t move to touch it. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you; it was that he hated the idea that you might have found a way to make him look careless in front of the rest of the team. He was always thorough. Always precise. He didn’t even need to look up to feel the weight of your gaze, calm, measured, like you were waiting for him to crack. 

The audacity of it.

"Is this supposed to be some kind of subtle jab?" he asked, his voice colder than he intended. "I don’t need your help."

You didn’t flinch, your smile unwavering. 

“I didn’t think you did,” you said smoothly, stepping back, your heels clicking against the polished floor as you moved slightly away from his desk, but not far enough to be out of his reach. "I just thought you’d like to avoid a mistake. It's not like I enjoy fixing your errors, Nanami."

You were an annoyance. 

A distraction.

"Don't waste your time," he muttered, more to himself than to you. "I’ll review it."

"Of course," you said, your voice still sweet, but there was an edge to it now—an undercurrent of amusement, perhaps even triumph. And with that, you turned and left, those goddamn heals clicking against the floor in a perfect rhythm. 

Fuck he hated you. 

- 

The next day, Nanami was at his desk early again. 7:30. He couldn’t stop the instinctual tightening of his chest when he heard the click of your heels. He sat straighter, adjusting his tie as if the mere presence of you required him to be on his guard.

He needed to be nothing short of perfect- especially when you were around.

“Good morning, Nanami,” you said with that same confident, cool smile, your eyes scanning the room before settling on him.

“Morning,” he grunted, doing his best to keep his voice even.

You didn’t respond right away, instead dropping a few more files onto his desk—closer this time, as if you knew exactly where to place them to make him feel something.

"Just a few updates," you said, almost casually, as if this was all normal. As if this wasn’t some subtle war of attrition between you two. "There was a mistake on Q2. Thankfully I caught it. Do take a look at the updated version please, try to get it to me before lunch- that is if you can of course, no pressure."

His eyes shifted to your hands for a second. 

Perfectly manicured, a soft pastel pink with hints of glitter. Two silver rings.

None on your ring finger.

He shouldn’t be thinking about your hands. Or how they looked so perfectly manicured.

 He felt an irritation bubble in his chest, a tightness he couldn’t explain. You were too composed, too perfect in every little thing you did. The way you moved, the way you spoke.. just everything about you seemed deliberate, designed to get under his skin.

"I’ll have it to you by lunch," Nanami replied curtly, not willing to show any hint of weakness. 

"Good," you said, stepping back from his desk but still lingering just enough to make him feel the weight of your presence. "I’ll be around if you need anything."

Nanami didn’t look up as you walked away, but his attention was fixed on the file you’d left behind. As he opened it, he could see the penmenship, and he honestly wanted to just.. throw the file in the trash, refuse to acknowledge your critics, burn the file- no burn the building.

With the file in it.

Not at all dramatic.

-

Hell only began (for Nanami specically), a couple weeks later, you had been part of the office for around five months now.

Five months of you and your perfection, your presence always lingering just enough to annoy him, yet never enough to fully push you out of his thoughts. Five months of his mind constantly circling back to you, he had begun to hate(?) you.

And why did hell start?

Because you were asked to take the lead in a very, very important portfolio.

“Nanami, I’ve got some updates for you,” Rina had said, “You’re going to be working on the Gojo portfolio with her. You’re both great at what you do, and this project—well, it’s too big for anyone to handle alone. This portfolio is massive, and the two of you are the best we’ve got. Think of the potential!”

The words barely registered at first. 

Gojo. 

You.

Potential.

Yes, potential to drive him absolutely insane.

The Gojo portfolio- that family was infamous, as much as the Zenin family, those fuckers had more money than a small country. They were important people, with lots of connections, and the portfolios meant hundreds of millions of dollars- potentially billions.

Said Gojo family, that name alone sent a shiver of dread down his spine. They were a powerful, untouchable dynasty—people who played the game of business with an arrogance that came from decades of wealth and influence. They controlled assets in dozens of industries, their connections stretching across borders. And now, their portfolio was going to be the crown jewel of his department. 

Generations of influence, their fingers in every major pie, from finance to real estate to tech. The portfolio would be the most important thing his department had seen in years, and now, you—you—would be holding the reins.

But more importantly, it was the project that could define careers. The financial windfall alone was enough to make anyone salivate. And when Rina had told him that you’d be the one spearheading it, something inside him snapped.

His first reaction was something close to disbelief. He didn't hate you, per se—no, he loathed you. He loathed how easily you adapted to the rhythm of the office, how effortlessly you’d made your mark. You were a force, and every day, you chipped away at the barriers he so carefully built. But this? He had to admit it—he was furious.

He was furious. 

Furious that you, the person who had somehow turned his well-ordered world upside down, were going to take the reins on this. Furious that Rina—who he had worked alongside for years—thought that the two of you would work well together.

Furious that you had already made a name for yourself in the department, while he had to claw through every task, every project, with every ounce of effort just to maintain his position.

You had done this. This… shift in the office dynamic, where everything now seemed to revolve around you. Where his attention was so often dragged back to you, despite his best efforts to stay focused.

Whatever.

-

The next day, you two began working together.

The Gojo portfolio was a completely different beast. 

It required precision, flawless attention to detail, and relentless dedication. And like clockwork, at exactly 7:30 a.m, you were already in the office, your heels clicking against the polished floor in that deliberate rhythm that had begun to haunt Nanami's mornings- he swore he could almost hear those wretched heals in his sleep.

 He focused on the documents spread across his desk, the numbers blurring into meaningless lines as your presence filled the room.

"Morning," you said smoothly, setting down your bag with grace. "Did you review the reports I sent last night?"

Without looking at you, Nanami nodded curtly. "Yes." His tone was clipped, detached. He didn’t look at you right away. He refused. But he could feel your presence beside him like an itch under his skin, impossible to ignore. You were calm, composed, utterly unfazed by the weight of the portfolio you’d been handed. That alone made his blood boil. Did you ever feel the pressure? Did you ever doubt yourself?

"Good," you replied, your voice too calm, too assured. "Because we have a lot to get through today. The Gojos aren’t exactly patient." And with that, you pushed a coffee and a muffin towards him. "I think it'll be interresting to work with you, both Rina and Aiko have sang your praices- hell, even the interns Yuki, Megumi and Nobara adore you."

You pulled your computer out, with two notebooks, and a couple files, getting ready for a day of work.

"And anyways.." You continued, back to your usual tone. "I find it cute, how the interns look up to you- especially Yuji. I think if he could, he'd shadow you 24/7. It says a lot."

His eyes flicked back to the files scattered across his desk, trying to focus on the work at hand. The Gojo portfolio. Important, urgent. He had a job to do.

But of course, your voice—the smooth, unfaltering tone that always seemed to slice through the tension in the room—was impossible to ignore. You were impossible to ignore.

"I’m sure you’ve heard all the praise," you said, not looking up from your own laptop, the steady click of your keys the only sound in the room for a moment. "The interns are all so eager to learn from you, Nanami. Makes me wonder how you’ve built such a reputation. I must say it impresses me."

His eyes briefly flicked up to you, watching as you worked with that cool, effortless grace, the steady rhythm of your fingers on the keyboard almost mocking him.

He hated you.

How dare you act as if this wouldn't be the portfolio in your life?

He forced his gaze back down to the files, forcing himself to remember why he was here, why this partnership was necessary. The Gojo portfolio. This was the big one. His career was riding on this. Not that he needed reminding—he was always painfully aware of the stakes.

The rest of the day was either silent, either the usual talk.

-

It was a week later that you first met the Gojo lawyers. 

And it didn't exactly go.. sensationally well.

When Nanami, closely followed by you stepped in, one of the lawyers snapped his fingers at you:

"Go get us some coffee's, thanks." said lawyer turned to Nanami, "I thoughts there would be two of you today?"

You both froze. First of all, you were the only woman in the room. Secondly, that lawyer clearly expected two men to be on the case. 

The room went still.

Nanami’s jaw tightened, the faintest tick in his temple betraying his irritation. He glanced at you, just a quick flick of his eyes, but it was enough to see the slight raise of your brow, the cool, calculating expression that had become so familiar.

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t even blink. Instead, you stepped forward, setting your files down on the sleek conference table with deliberate precision- they made a small 'thump' sound. 

 The audacity. His gaze lingered on you for a fraction of a second longer than it should have, searching for a reaction—disdain, fury, anything.

But you didn’t give them that satisfaction. Instead, you smiled.

It was a cold, dangerous smile, the kind that promised retribution without raising your voice. 

“I think you’re mistaken,” you said smoothly, your voice like silk over steel. “I’m here to lead this meeting, not to fetch your coffee.”

Nanami exhaled quietly through his nose, the smallest hint of satisfaction blooming in his chest. The lawyer blinked, clearly taken aback by your composed demeanor, but you didn’t stop there.

“And for the record,” you added, flipping open the top file with a precise flick of your wrist, “if I were to get anyone coffee, I’d make sure to ask if they could afford the time it takes. Because, as I understand it,” your eyes flicked to the lawyer’s expensive watch, “you’re already behind schedule.”

Nanami would've loathed to be on the other side of your words- but he internally grinned, it was beautiful to see you in action. It was like watching someone dismantle a ticking bomb with their bare hands, and as much as he hated to admit it, it was mesmerizing.

The lawyer’s face flushed, a dark red blooming across his cheeks. “I—” he began, but his voice faltered.

Nanami finally spoke, his voice low and calm, though there was an unmistakable edge to it. “If we’re finished with the unnecessary pleasantries, perhaps we can begin the actual business.” His eyes cut to the lawyer, cold and unyielding. “Or should I assume you’re not prepared?”

The lawyer sputtered, but the damage was already done. The balance of power in the room had shifted, and everyone knew it.

You settled into your chair, crossing your legs with an air of absolute composure, like you’d just won a game only you knew you were playing. “Shall we?” you said, gesturing to the documents spread across the table.

Nanami lowered himself into the seat beside you, his posture rigid but controlled. He could feel the heat of your presence next to him, the proximity sending a spark through his nerves. He hated that too—the way you unsettled him without even trying. But damn it if he wasn’t impressed.

As the meeting continued, your voice filled the room, sharp and commanding, dismantling the Gojo lawyer’s every attempt to regain control with precise, cutting logic. Nanami watched you work, silent and calculating, his respect for you begrudgingly deepening with every word you spoke.

When the meeting finally ended, the lawyers shuffled out, the one rat looking asshole was being whisper-shouted at by another lawyer. Nanami stayed seated, watching as you gathered your files with meticulous care.

“Not bad,” he said quietly, the closest thing to a compliment you’d get from him.

You glanced at him, a flicker of amusement dancing in your eyes. “High praise, coming from you. I'm honored."

Nanami didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he studied you for a long moment, his gaze heavy and unreadable. He didn’t want to admit it—not to you, not to himself—but something had shifted. His hatred wasn’t as pure as it had been before- if it even had been hatred.

And that terrified him.

Without another word, you stood, giving him one last smirk before walking out of the conference room, heels clicking against the marble floor like a metronome.

-

The Gojo portfolio had transformed into an all-consuming monster. Early mornings bled into late nights, leaving the office bathed in the muted glow of computer screens long after everyone else had gone home. 

You worked with a ruthless precision, dissecting financials, anticipating client demands, and somehow maintaining that maddeningly calm demeanor. He hated it. He hated how flawless you seemed. And he hated himself more for the way he kept catching himself watching, listening, noticing every little thing.

It drove him insane.

“You’re staring, Nanami,” you said one evening without looking up, your voice cool and teasing. “Something on your mind?”

He snapped his gaze back to the papers in front of him, cursing under his breath. “No.”

You glanced at him, that sly smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Liar.”

Nanami forced himself to remain calm, though his grip on the pen tightened. “Focus on the projections. We’re behind.”

“Actually, we’re not,” you countered, sliding a neatly tabbed document across the table toward him. “I recalculated the figures last night.”

He hated it- he loved it- he was going absolutely insane.

The worst part? He couldn’t stop thinking about you.

It had become routine: every morning, you’d arrive, heels clicking down the hall with that same, maddening precision, and Nanami would already be sitting at his desk, pretending to concentrate on the piles of paperwork in front of him.

You never missed a beat, always greeted him with that cool, calculating smile.

“Morning,” you’d say, dropping another file onto his desk, eyes gleaming with that ever-present challenge.

“Morning,” Nanami would respond with a tight smile, the words barely leaving his mouth before he’s caught in your gaze. It was the same routine every day, and yet, he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that you were always just a step ahead.

-

It was late one night when the two of you were working overtime, the office almost empty, save for the quiet hum of fluorescent lights above and the distant sounds of your tapping keyboards. You had even pulled out the bleu light glasses. 

Nanami rubbed his eyes, trying to focus, but his gaze kept drifting over to you—your brow furrowed in concentration, your hair pulled back in that messy ponytail. He hated how attractive-NO. NOT THAT.  

He forced himself to focus on the spreadsheet in front of him, tapping his pen rhythmically against the desk in a futile attempt to drown out the quiet sounds of you typing. His sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, the crisp fabric of his shirt wrinkled from hours of work. He refused to think about how your gaze had flicked to his arms when he adjusted his collar earlier- you were probably mocking him mentally.

He shook his head and went back to work.

You stole a glance, the veins prominent along his arms, and one involuntary word crossed your mind: whore.

The thought startled you, and you stifled a laugh, biting the inside of your cheek to keep the sound from escaping. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard as you refocused, staring at the data that had blurred together over the last several hours. You couldn't let him see that his presence was getting to you. 

You were adjusting your blue light glasses, pushing them up the bridge of your nose with an exasperated air. The action was so unguarded, so normal, that it struck him unexpectedly. You looked—no. He clamped down on the thought before it could form.

Not now. 

Not ever.

Nuh huh.

Nanami’s pen paused mid-tap, and he turned slightly in his chair, the weight of his gaze settling on you like a physical presence. “What?” he asked, his voice low and steady, though there was a note of irritation. “You’re staring.”

You blinked, feigning innocence, your fingers resuming their measured tap against the keyboard. “I wasn’t staring,” you replied smoothly. “I was thinking.”

“Thinking about what?”

“Oh, you know,” you said airily, glancing at him sideways-fuck you wanted to sink your teeth in his perfect forearm argh-, “about how much time you waste tapping that pen. Very productive."

“You could have just said it’s distracting,” he replied flatly, his tone even. “Instead of making it another one of your clever little remarks.”

"You think I'm clever?" You quiped back. Honestly the tiredness was getting to you, or else you would've never said that.

Nanami's eyes narrowed, his pen tapping once more before falling silent. He leaned back slightly in his chair, the muscles in his jaw tightening.

 “Don’t twist my words,” he said, voice clipped. “I said nothing of the sort.”

“Oh, come on,” you teased, leaning back in your own chair with a small, tired grin. “You didn’t deny it fast enough. Clearly, you think I’m clever. It’s okay to admit it, Nanami. We’re all friends here.”

“Friends?” he echoed, an incredulous scoff escaping before he could stop it. “Is that what we are now?”

“Well,” you began, a playful lilt in your voice, “we’re certainly something. You, me, this portfolio—it’s practically a romance.”

“I’d rather not associate this project with anything resembling a romance.”

You chuckled, a sound that was too soft, too unguarded for the moment, and it grated at him. “Relax, Nanami,” you said, turning your attention back to the screen in front of you. “It’s just a joke. You really need to loosen up.”

“Loosening up is exactly how people make mistakes,” he retorted sharply, eyes focused on his screen now. “And we can’t afford mistakes. Not with this portfolio.”

“Right, of course,” you murmured, the teasing edge fading from your voice. “The almighty Gojo portfolio.” There was a pause, and then, more softly: “You don’t think I’m taking this seriously?”

His hands stilled over the keyboard. For a moment, he said nothing, the hum of the office the only sound between you. Then, his voice, quieter now, “I think you enjoy making light of things that shouldn’t be taken lightly.”

You turned to face him, resting your chin on your hand, and studied him. “You think I’m joking because I don’t care. That’s what you really believe, isn’t it?”

His gaze flickered to you, a flash of something unreadable in his eyes before it vanished. “I believe,” he said carefully, “that your confidence borders on arrogance.”

“And your perfectionism borders on obsession,” you shot back, but there was no bite to the words. “We balance each other.”

Nanami exhaled slowly, the words settling between you like an uneasy truce. He didn’t want to admit it, but there was truth in what you said. Your approach was different—infuriatingly so—but it was effective. The two of you did balance each other, as much as it grated on him to acknowledge it.

“You’re not wrong,” he muttered at last, eyes drifting back to his screen.

You blinked, looking at him shocked, caught off guard. “Did you just—”

“Don’t,” he cut in, tone warning, though there was no real malice in it. “Don’t make me regret it.”

A smile tugged at your lips, genuine and unguarded. “I’ll treasure the moment.”

Nanami bit back a sigh, forcing his attention back to the portfolio, but the warmth of your smile lingered longer than it should have. He hated it. Hated how much space you occupied in his mind.

But what he hated most was the gnawing realization that maybe—just maybe—he didn’t hate it at all.

-

After the second wet dream he had of you, he knew he was done for.

Buried.

Cremated.

Entombed.

The Gojo portfolio continued, it was estimated to take around five months to fully finalise, that meant four more months of working with you.

And he wasn't sure he'd be able to take it.

The next morning, Nanami sat at his desk earlier than usual. His thoughts were a mess—an infuriating, tangled web of work and you. He had spent the night convincing himself that the dreams were just a byproduct of stress, a mental slip caused by the long hours and high stakes of the Gojo portfolio.

And yet, when the familiar click of your heels echoed down the hallway, his heart betrayed him with its predictable quickening.

Get a grip.

You entered, balancing a coffee in one hand and a stack of papers in the other, your blue light glasses perched on the bridge of your nose. The faint scent of your perfume trailed behind you as you approached his desk. Nanami stared resolutely at his screen, trying to ignore the way his pulse jumped.

“Morning,” you said, setting the coffee down beside him with a casual air. “Thought you might need a pick-me-up. Late night?”

Nanami stared at the coffee for a second, it was his preferred order- which you had memorised. 

“Yes,” he said finally, his voice flat, betraying nothing. “Late night.” He reached for the coffee, his fingers brushing the cup, and the warmth bled into his palm. He took a sip, savoring the bitter taste as if it could wash away the thoughts plaguing him. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” you replied easily, sliding into the chair across from him, settling in as though this was the most natural thing in the world. “We both need all the caffeine we can get if we’re going to survive the next four months.”

Nanami tensed. Four months. The reminder felt like a death sentence.

And he was already dead.

“Survival,” he echoed, forcing a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s one way to put it.”

You glanced at him over the rim of your glasses, an amused glint in your eyes. “Oh, come on, Nanami. It won’t be that bad. I’m not that unbearable, am I?”

He didn’t answer immediately, just focused on the report in front of him. The numbers blurred together again, your voice too distracting. His grip on the pen in his hand tightened. Yes, he wanted to say. You’re infuriating, impossible, maddening. But instead, he kept his tone carefully neutral.

“You’re tolerable,” he said, deliberately nonchalant. “On good days.”

Your laughter was soft, like the gentle chime of a bell, and it cut through the tension in the room. It wasn’t the reaction he expected, and it made something in his chest twist in an unfamiliar way.

“Well, that’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me all week,” you teased, flipping open one of the files. “I’ll take it.”

He hated how your laughter made the room feel lighter. He hated how you brushed off his barbs with ease, like they were nothing more than harmless banter. But most of all, he hated how much he was beginning to look forward to these moments- this wasn't good.

The next few hours passed in relative silence, the two of you working side by side. You would occasionally glance at him, offering a slight smirk whenever you caught him scowling at the screen, as though you knew exactly what was going through his mind.

And then, at 2:00 PM sharp, Rina called for a meeting.

The Gojo family’s lawyers were predictably dismissive, questioning the projections and raising concerns. But Nanami handled them today, which.. lord. Oh. Lord. 

The worst? 

He rolled his sleeves up again and-urghhhh. Stay focused. 

The Gojo lawyers, as expected, were dismissive, arrogant, and relentless. Their questions were pointed, their criticisms unyielding. But Nanami stood firm, taking each jibe with the calm demeanor that he’d perfected over the years. He was in control. He had to be.

But when the lawyer turned to you—you, the woman who had managed to stay silent for the last twenty minutes—something in Nanami’s chest tightened. He wasn’t sure why, but his gaze lingered as you stood to answer, every move you made purposeful, confident.

You handled the situation flawlessly, your words sharp but measured. You held your ground, never wavering, even as the lawyer tried to undermine you.

“You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?” the lawyer asked with a sneer, clearly annoyed by your poise.

You smiled thinly, leaning forward just enough to convey both authority and calm.

“Everything,” you confirmed, locking eyes with him. "And more."

Nanami watched, something shifting in his chest as he realized just how perfectly you fit into this office.

-

As the months continued to stretch pass, the portfolio, the hellish project was coming to an end. In a week.

A week and the two of you would be free- with a hefty bonus and a week time off.

"Look at my baby." You interrupted during an afternoon, you had been staring at the same sequence of stats for almost twenty minutes and needed a break, so you shoved your phone into Nanami's hold, a picture of your rag-doll cat on the screen.

Nanami blinked, looking over the rim of his glasses, staring at the phone in his hand, momentarily thrown off by your sudden proximity. His fingers brushed against yours as he took it from you, and for a fleeting moment, he forgot how to breathe.

He could die in peace now.

He glanced at the screen, his gaze flicking to the image of your cat, a rag-doll with fluffy fur and wide, innocent blue eyes. The cat looked comfortable in its bed, as if living a life of luxury—nothing like the stress and chaos that had consumed Nanami's world lately.

"She’s cute," he said, trying to keep his voice neutral, but there was a tightness in his chest that he couldn't explain. It wasn’t the cat—he could tell you loved her, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that you had taken a moment to show him something personal. 

It wasn’t the first time you’d done something like that—slid into his personal space without hesitation, pulled him into your orbit with ease. But each time, it left him feeling like he was losing some battle he hadn’t even realized he was fighting.

"What’s her name?"

You smiled, a soft, almost wistful expression, your lips curling just enough to show a hint of warmth, of something almost affectionate. 

"Her name’s Mochi," you replied, eyes flickering down to your phone for a second, but he noticed the small shift in your demeanour. "My little baby- you gotta meet her one day."

You didn't seem to realise the innuendo (oh you did).

His pulse beat in his ears, not from the picture, but from the unspoken implication. 

"Maybe," he said finally, as if he could drown out the sudden rush of heat that flooded his chest-and dick. "I’ll meet her… one day."

In that moment, when you’d shoved your phone into his hands and leaned a little too close, it was like you had given him something he couldn’t get anywhere else: a glimpse of something real. 

Something personal. Something you had never shared with anyone else.

"She’s a handful," you continued, oblivious to the way your words struck him. "She loves attention, especially when I’m working. She’ll jump right onto my desk and try to sit on my laptop, even if she’s already eaten and had a nap."

“And do you… have time for her?” Nanami asked before he could stop himself, the question slipping out like an impulse.

You raised an eyebrow, amused, clearly not expecting such a question from him. "Of course I do. It’s not all work, Nanami. You should know that by now-and anyways, you have time for Megumi, Yuki and Nobara." 

"You think I… have time for them?" he asked, though he didn't mean to. His voice sounded flat, detached, like it always did. But there was a little edge to it now—a layer of something deeper that he couldn’t quite cover up.

Your eyes flickered to him, slightly puzzled by the change in his tone. “I mean, you do, don’t you? You’re always so on top of everything, Nanami. They all look up to you. It’s obvious.”

You said it like it was the simplest thing in the world, as if it were just a fact of life. But Nanami couldn't quite shake the way your words tugged at him. Did you really see him like that? Did you see the way he looked after the interns, always ensuring they had what they needed, always pushing them to do better?

“Yeah,” he answered, voice quieter than he intended, “I suppose I do.”

-

The final week of the portfolio was a blur of meetings and final adjustments, the finish line in sight. But even with the end so close, Nanami couldn’t shake the thoughts of you. It was maddening, how much his mind kept drifting back to those small, seemingly innocent moments.

He was losing it, you were always. On. His. Fucking. Mind.

He dreamt of you.

It was impossible.

By the time the final presentation rolled around, Nanami’s chest was tight. He stood at the front of the room, addressing the Gojo family’s lawyers with his usual cool precision. But his eyes kept drifting back to you.

You were sitting in the front row, looking every bit the professional—composed, confident, perfect. But it wasn’t the report that caught his attention. It was the way you held yourself, the way your presence seemed to fill the room, to fill his thoughts.

And, for the first time in months, Nanami realized the truth.

He wasn’t just working with you anymore. No, somewhere along the way, he had started to want you.

In every way possible.

And that realization terrified him.

But it also made his heart race.

When the presentation wrapped up, and the Gojo family’s lawyers gave their approval, the weight lifted from his shoulders, but something else remained. A tension, a charge between you and him that wasn’t just about the project anymore.

“You did well,” you said quietly as you gathered your things, standing up and walking over to him. Your voice was low, almost… intimate.

Nanami nodded, though his words caught in his throat. “You did well too,” he murmured, his voice rougher than he intended.

You glanced at him, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Maybe you’ll finally meet Mochi.”

The way you said it, so lightly, like it was nothing but a joke, made Nanami’s heart thud in his chest.

But as you turned to leave, he couldn’t stop himself.

“Maybe,” he said, his voice almost too quiet to hear.

And for the first time in weeks, he allowed himself to believe it.

-

That week of vacation was amazing- for you, it was a welcome respite, a much-needed break to recover from the endless grind of the Gojo portfolio, after six months of work, you could relax. 

For Nanami?

Pure torture. The dreams got worse, he's hear your heals clicking on the floor in his sleep, he's feel your hands on him, your nails racking against his back, your lips against his neck-God. He needed to get a grip. 

He couldn't escape you.

It was pure torture.

No matter how hard he tried to immerse himself in the quiet of his apartment, in the mundane routines that used to ground him- the things he usually did, your voice echoed in his mind. Your laugh, your teasing, the way you’d look at him when you caught him staring. He could hear the click of your heels on the office floor, so vividly that it was as though you were still right there beside him. And then, the dreams, they continued. 

But they got worse. So much worse.

At first, they were simple, moments of you brushing against him, the soft press of your shoulder against his. But then, they evolved. 

His nights were now filled with images of you—your hands on him, nails raking down his back as he kissed you. Your lips against his neck, your breath against his ear, whispering his name.

He would wake up gasping, the sheets tangled around him, his body aching in ways he couldn't explain. His heart thudded painfully in his chest, and no matter how many times he tried to shake it off, it would linger. Every night, it became harder to distinguish between sleep and waking, as if you were already there with him, in his apartment, on his couch, in his bed.

You. You were in every corner of his thoughts.

He could probably charge you rent for how much you were plaguing his mind. 

By the end of the week, when his phone buzzed with a reminder that work was starting again, he felt his stomach drop. His vacation was over, and he was about to be thrown back into the fire. Into you.

-

The first day back at the office was not easy.

But at least the Gojo portfolio was over with. 

The minute Nanami stepped through the door, he was greeted by the familiar scent of coffee and papers, the quiet buzz of activity, and the sound of your heels clicking against the polished floor.

He froze for a second, his body tense, heart hammering, before he pushed through the door and made his way to his desk. The familiar sight of you, sitting at your workstation, absorbed in your laptop, sent a shiver down his spine. He hadn’t realized how much he missed the sight of you, how much he needed it.

Nanami’s hand hovered over the pile of reports, but his mind was elsewhere. His gaze drifted over to you again, and there you were, typing away on your laptop, completely absorbed in your work. The sound of your fingers on the keys was strangely soothing, but it also made his thoughts spiral in ways he didn’t want to acknowledge.

Your nails were a dark red now. Still with two silver rings.

His pulse thudded in his ears, a constant reminder of how aware he was of you—how every second you were near him felt like a slow burn, something that crept under his skin and made his chest ache with a longing he couldn’t deny. 

And the worst part? He hated how much he liked it. He hated that you had a power over him, that no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, that stupid smile of yours would make him forget everything else.

You, in eleven months, had become the centre of his universe.

“Good morning, Nanami,” you said, not even looking up from your screen, the words light, casual.

“Morning,” he replied, his voice colder than he intended, his eyes snapping down to the reports in front of him. But his mind wasn’t on the work; it was on you, as always. The way your fingers danced over the keyboard, the way the sunlight caught in your hair, making it seem impossibly soft, like it belonged to a dream.

God, he was a fool.

A couple minutes later, one of the assistants brought you two coffee's, Nanami wondered for a second, then tried his damn hardest to focus back on his work, until he saw something in the corner of his eye.

A coffee cup.

Steaming.

His favorite.

You winked: "You're gonna need it, after a week of vaca, I always feel like death coming back to work."

Yeah, Nanami was fucked. 

He hadn’t even asked for it, yet you had remembered. The perfect temperature, the exact strength of the brew, just how he liked it. His fingers twitched at his sides, desperately holding back the flood of feelings he wasn’t ready to face. It was ridiculous, how much your small gesture unraveled him. But then again, everything about you unraveled him.

You had done this before- during the Gojo project.

And yet… He stared down at the coffee, willing himself not to give in to the urge to reach for it, to acknowledge your presence more than he already had. Instead, he pretended to focus on the reports, trying to push the rising tide of emotion back down.

But then your voice broke through his thoughts, and it was so casual, so easy.

He couldn’t even look at you without his heart going haywire, without his thoughts betraying him, reminding him of every little thing that made him want to reach across that desk and—

No.

He set the coffee down, a little more firmly than he meant to, the sound of the mug against the desk loud in the otherwise quiet office.

He had to focus. 

He had to keep it together.

You reached for your own coffee, that little smug smile still playing on your lips as you took a sip, not even acknowledging how much it was driving him mad. He clenched his fists under the table, trying to ignore the strange pull in his gut.

He needed a moment to breathe.

“Do you have something to say, or are you just going to sit there looking at me like you want to bite my head off?” you asked casually, tapping your nails against your cup as if you were entirely unaware of the storm you were causing inside him.

Of course you wouldn't give him a moment to breath. 

Why would you.

"No," he finally said, his voice quieter, almost too calm. "Just trying to focus on work."

You looked at him, your expression softening, almost imperceptibly, and that was what broke him.

"I don't think you're fooling anyone," you said, voice low now. "You think I don’t see how you’ve been acting lately? How you can barely look me in the eye when we’re in the same room?"

He could see your cleavage-fuck.

No.

Eyes up.

You were actually a bit impressed, Nanami didn't falter, his eyes stayed perfectly locked on yours. Un-moving. Professional. Like a good gentleman, keeping his eyes locked on yours while he could potentially have.. quite the view.

His gaze remained locked on yours, his face betraying nothing, as if you hadn’t just called him out on everything he had been trying so desperately to hide.

“Don’t worry, Nanami. I’m not going to bite,” you said softly, but there was a subtle undercurrent in your voice, one that had his pulse quickening all over again. You tilted your head slightly, as if savouring the effect you had on him- on the inside, you were kicking your feet like a little girl.

“I wasn’t worried,” he said, his voice tight and controlled, the words barely making it past his lips. “I just don’t see the point in discussing it.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, your smile deepening. 

“Really? Because you’ve been acting like you’re dying to say something. You know, it’s kind of hard to ignore how much tension there’s been between us lately. And it’s not just me noticing, you know. Rina has noticed, Aiko had-hell, even the interns have."

But you shrugged, continuing to speak: "Anyways. T's up to you."

And with that, you gave him a card-the companies card, with a time: 7:30 pm, at the Spark Bar. You turned and walked away.

It was taking every ounce of self-control not to follow you, not to barge into your office and demand to know exactly what you meant by all of this. To demand you give him answers for the way his heart raced every time you entered the room, the way you made him lose focus the moment you said his name. The way he hadn’t even been able to look at another woman the entire time he’d worked with you. The way everything else—work, responsibilities, life—had blurred into the background whenever you were near.

-

That evening, exactly 7:29 pm, he stepped into the bar. He scanned the place for a moment, it wasn't packed, but wasn't completely empty. Then he saw you. Your blouse, undone a couple of buttons, just enough to show a hint of skin. The sharp line of your collarbones, the curve of your neck, the soft sheen of your skin in the low light. It was almost like you were daring him to look, daring him to notice how much more real you were without the rigid structure of the office around you.

And then there was the way you were sitting—one leg crossed over the other, just enough to hike the hem of your pencil skirt a little higher, the smooth skin of your thigh peeking out.

Nanami’s breath hitched. His eyes dragged unwillingly over the exposed skin, his pulse hammering in his chest. He wanted to look away. He wanted to pull himself together. But he couldn’t.

You were a vision. Damn you.

“Nanami,” you said, your voice slow, deliberate. “Glad you could make it. Cutting it close, I thought punctuality was one of your virtues.”

Nanami slid onto the stool beside you, his movements stiff, controlled. His hands rested on his thighs, fingers curling slightly as if to keep them from reaching for you. He let out a slow, measured breath.

“Had to think it through,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended, like sandpaper dragged across stone. He glanced at you, forcing his gaze to stay locked on your face, but it was a battle. “Didn’t want to waste your time.”

You watched carefully as he removed his jacket, and because of the heat, rolled his sleeves up. You un-bashfully stared at his forearms. 

You smirked, leaning back just enough to savour the view as Nanami rolled his sleeves up, revealing those forearms that had no right looking so strong. His movements were deliberate, controlled, but you could tell he knew. He had to know the effect he was having, the way your eyes tracked every flex of muscle beneath the skin, how you bit your lip without meaning to.

But he didn’t acknowledge it. Of course not. That wasn’t his style.

“Thinking it through?” you echoed, swirling the drink in your glass, the ice clinking softly. “And here I thought you were decisive. But maybe I overestimated you.”

Nanami’s jaw clenched. His lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t bite. Not yet. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

You leaned forward slightly, propping your elbow on the bar, your chin resting on your hand, watching him with those sharp, knowing eyes that had undone him time and time again. “You are,” you murmured. 

You swirled the drink again, the clink of ice in glass the only sound between you for a beat too long. Finally, you broke the silence, voice low, almost teasing.

“So… did you think it through?”

Nanami exhaled slowly, dragging his eyes from your mouth to meet your gaze. 

It was torture. 

Pure, unrelenting torture. The way you were sitting there, confident, self-assured, every inch of you carefully constructed to drive him insane.

“I did,” he said quietly, the words tight, like they had to be pried out of him. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the bar, closing the distance between you just enough that your perfume wrapped around him like a noose. “And yet, here I am.”

Your eyes went to his forearm, then his hands-imagining them around your neck- oof. No.

“Here you are,” you repeated, the words barely above a whisper. “So tell me, what conclusion did you come to?”

His eyes met yours, and he didn’t blink. Didn’t look away. There was something raw in his gaze, something that was both reverent and desperate, like a man on the verge of breaking.

“The conclusion,” he said, voice low, gravelly, “is that I’ve been lying to myself.”

You leaned in, breath catching in your throat at the gravity of his words, but you didn’t interrupt. You let him speak.

“I’ve tried,” he continued, his voice steady but heavy with restraint. “I’ve tried to keep my distance. To focus on the job. To pretend that every glance, every word, every goddamn smile didn’t affect me.”

He exhaled, the sound sharp and hollow, his eyes darkening as they searched your face for some reaction. “But it does. You do.”

There it was. Laid bare. Raw. Unapologetic.

You tilted your head, your expression unreadable, though there was a glimmer of something softer in your eyes now-internally you were giggling like a little girl, loving this.

 “And what exactly have I done to you, Nanami?”

“What have you done to me?” He let out a quiet, humorless chuckle, shaking his head as if to laugh off the absurdity of it. “You’ve…” He struggled for the right words, his throat tight with emotions he had never allowed himself to feel, not this strongly, not like this.

“You’ve made me forget how to breathe,” he finally admitted, the words coming out raw. He looked down at his hands, clenching them into fists on the bar as if they were the only things keeping him anchored, the veins becoming more prominent. “I can’t think straight when you���re near me. Every time you speak, I lose myself for a moment. Every time you look at me, I lose track of everything else.”

Your lips parted as if you were about to say something, but Nanami wasn’t done. The words were spilling out now, and there was no stopping them. 

“God, I’m so fucking aware of you. You make me feel like I’m always two steps behind, like I’m running from something I’ve already given into. Every time you walk into the room, I lose my mind. Every time you look at me, I want to pull you closer, but I can’t. I won’t.” His breath caught in his throat, and his chest tightened. “I’ve tried to keep it professional, to keep it normal. But you’ve made it impossible.”

You were fighting a smile, watching this poor man unravel in front of you.. you almost felt sympathy. 

“And here I thought you didn’t like me,” you teased, your voice soft, teasing but with a tenderness laced beneath it, the kind that made his throat tighten even more.

Nanami let out a breath, low and uneven. “I tried not to.”

The bar felt smaller, the air heavier, thick with everything left unsaid between you. Nanami’s confession hung between you like a fragile thread, one tug away from snapping. He sat there, rigid, shoulders tense, every line of his body taut with the effort of holding himself back- he looked almost delicious like that. 

Stressed out.

Over you- how flattering. 

“And yet, here we are,” you murmured, your voice low, soothing. “You, sitting here, spilling your heart out. And me, still waiting to understand why you’ve been driving yourself crazy.”

“Because it’s you,” he said, “Because every time I tried to push it away, you’d do something—laugh, roll your eyes, challenge me—and I’d lose all sense of reason.”

"It’s me, huh?” You tilted your head, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of your lips, but your eyes… your eyes betrayed something else. “I’ve got that much power over you?”

“More than you’ll ever know,” he replied, voice tight with both frustration and a deep, aching longing that he couldn’t bury any longer. He was done pretending. Done lying to himself. He was so fucking tired of fighting this.

You could tell.

"I think it's time you meet Mochi no?"

The innuendo was clear, you were inviting him back to your place. 

Nanami froze, the words hanging in the air between you, the invitation wrapped in a teasing smirk that belied the weight of it. For a heartbeat, he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

“You—” he began, his voice breaking, “You can’t be serious.” The words were an automatic defense, but they tasted wrong on his tongue. His throat was dry. He could barely force them out.

But you didn’t flinch. 

“I’m very serious, Nanami,” you whispered. 

“Mochi?” His voice cracked on the word, like he was grasping for any semblance of control. “Your cat?” He sounded strained, like he was trying to convince himself that this wasn’t what it clearly was.

“Yes, Nanami.” You leaned in slightly, your tone sweet, teasing. “My cat. Who else did you think I was talking about?”

“You…” he took a deep breath in, struggling to regain control, “You know what you’re doing, don’t you?”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” you teased innocently, though the gleam in your eyes told a different story. “But you seem… flustered.”

"Mochi." He repeated, he looked sort of… confused now- much to your amusement.

“Yes, Nanami.” Your voice was soft but the underlying challenge was unmistakable. “My cat. What else would I mean? I didn’t realize you had such a vivid imagination.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice low and almost apologetic, the words tumbling out without him thinking. “I don’t understand. I—” He stopped himself, realizing how desperate he must sound, how unhinged he was becoming. 

But how could he not? You had him tied up in knots.

“Are you sure you don’t understand?” you asked softly, almost too innocently. You let the silence stretch between you for just a second, watching him carefully. 

You grabbed his tie, toying with the soft fabric.

Nanami blinked, he turned towards the barman: "The tab please- hers too please." 

You grinned.

"Payin' for me are you? My my, what a gentleman." 

But you remained silent after that, watching Nanami pay for your drink, slide back onto his jacket and stare at you:

"So you said I could meet Mochi right?"

-

The instant you were back in your apartment, pushing the door open, the damn cat jumped on you- literaly. With a startled laugh, you barely managed to catch the small, fluffy body in your arms, the cat immediately starting to purr loudly, nuzzling into your neck with affection.

You looked up at Nanami, standing frozen in the doorway, his eyes wide, a soft chuckle escaping him at the sight of your struggle with Mochi.

“Meet Mochi,” you grinned, raising an eyebrow as you settled the cat comfortably in your arms. The little ball of fur had already claimed you as his personal perch. "I told you it was a very important introduction."

This version of you, so warm, so open, made his heart feel heavy. The tension, the walls, the professional front—none of it existed here. Just you. And him. And that damn cat, of course.

Mochi jumped out of your arms, and trotted up to Nanami. You looked down at the cat. 

"Mochi, this is Nanami Kento."

The way you said his name-argh.

He had to close his eyes and swallow for a second.

“Hi, Mochi,” he said softly, bending down to pet the cat. But his attention was still divided. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, standing there in the dim light of your apartment, looking so effortless, so inviting. The warmth of your home, of your presence, was intoxicating in a way that made his head spin.

You watched him, that teasing glint never leaving your eyes. He wasn’t the same stoic, composed Nanami from work. No, here, in your apartment, he was something else entirely—vulnerable, uncertain, human.

“You know,” you said, your voice a little quieter now, your teasing tone replaced by something more genuine, “I didn’t invite you here just to meet Mochi.”

You grabbed his tie, pulling him close, way too close, the tips of his ears burned.

"How many innuendos do I have to dish out for me to make it clear, hm?"

Before he could process anything more, you closed the distance, your lips pressing against his with a heat that burned away every lingering doubt, every shred of self-control. Nanami’s hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer, and in that moment, all of the tension, all of the frustration, all of the longing that had been building for months collapsed into something more real.

More raw.

And as you kissed him, deeply, without hesitation, he realised he was never going to be able to walk away from this. From you. He had already crossed the point of no return.

And for the first time in a long while, Nanami didn’t care.

:)

[wickjump]

hello esteemed whump enjoyer... i am but an angst lover at most, i'm not sure if i consider my expertise to be whump (or cross), but here i am offering something in your inbox. i don't know if you've discussed this before, but do you think cross will have problem with swap/blue at some point? like, once he discovers that swap is his blueprint (heh), would he feel some sort of imposter syndrome? like "wow, is that who i am supposed to be" moment?

imagine this in a star sanses context too, whether cross is on the stars or the bad sanses side is up to you. nevertheless, do you think cross would feel an intense feeling of being compared, similar to how children in certain households will have their parents who are never satisfied with them compare them to other children of the same age group? i imagine cross would have some irrational anger/envy towards swap if that were the case. unresolved childhood trauma anyone? :]

I THOUGHT THIS WAS GOING TO BE A JIGSAW TYPE THING FROM HOW IT STARTED OUT id fail ngl

anyway. goddd im so torn, and so is cross, about swap and cross’ dynamic. on one hand, cross would like swap because he is a swap. at long last, he doesn’t feel isolated anymore. he’s been surrounded by classic sanses for the most part, and he’s always felt so different and wrong among them. but with swap he’s found his kind of person. they like the same foods, watch the same kinds of shows, have the same ambition and drive.

they’re not lazy, they work hard, and they eat food outside of condiments or the greasefest that is grillby’s. obviously, xgaster’s world has many twists compared to underswap—his world is a mash of classic and swaps, taking the ‘best’ out of both to make his own masterpiece. but underswap and it’s people are still so similar to cross, that even for a brief second he can pretend he’s home.

and yet. cross feels a twist in his soul. swap is who he was supposed to be. who he would be, had xgaster not intervened. had xgaster not improved cross like he improved everything else, cross would be a lot more like swap, his initial intended outcome. this becomes one of two emotions at any given time:

envy and superiority.

envy is obvious. swap lives a pacifist timeline above the surface. he has his friends, his family. he never suffered the abuse cross went through. everyone’s alive. and most importantly, swap is content. he’s happy with where he is. cross is never content, not when he was raised to be anything but. he envies swap’s ability to be satisfied with what he has, because despite how much cross tries to perfect himself, he’s never happy with it. he feels kind of like an imposter sometimes. like he’s the mimic and swap is the original, and he hates that feeling.

superiority is less obvious, but it makes sense. sometimes, he will look down on swap the same way xgaster looked down on other aus. or similarly, anyway. cross doesn’t want to fix swap, he doesn’t act cruelly and he keeps these thoughts mostly internalized. but cross will look at swap and think about all the things wrong with him, all the things xgaster fixed in cross. swap isn’t an actual royal guard, he’s loud and clumsy and he never takes things seriously. his training is unprofessional and while he packs a punch it’s disorganized. his room is cluttered and his words unprofessional. cross is better than that. he was made to be better than that. cross is prim, proper, and exactly what everyone else wants him to be.

all in all swap is very conflicting for him. i like to think cross is impersonal in his violence most of the time on nightmare’s team (unfortunately my favorite group setting for him) because to him it’s a job and depersonalizing it is his way of coping with his actions. but sometimes when he’ll fight swap there’s emotion in it, unresolved anger and envy and fear. that’s the closest to letting his feelings out that he lets himself get.

[rose24207]

Best friends to enemies to lovers with lando x tewmmate reader where he loved her all along but he started pushing her away.. angsty with a happy ending please

I love all all of your work!

Rivals or lovers?

Summary: Lando and his teammate, initially fierce rivals, slowly begin to realize their unspoken attraction for each other, transforming from enemies to lovers as they confront their fears and vulnerabilities.

Genre: Angst, fluff, enemies to lovers

TW: arguing

A/N: thank you for the request! English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist

Lando Norris had never been one to back down from a challenge. It was what made him so competitive, what drove him to the top in the world of racing.

But when you became his teammate, it felt like his world had been flipped upside down. There was something about you—your sharp wit, your relentless drive, the way you never let anyone tell you what to do—that grated on his nerves.

Maybe it was the way you challenged him at every turn, or maybe it was the fact that you were so good, so damn good that it made him question his own abilities.

But whatever it was, you two couldn’t stand each other.

From the first moment you were assigned as teammates, the rivalry began. At every team meeting, you shot down his ideas and made snarky comments.

On the track, you never gave him an inch. It was like a game—who could get the best lap times, who could outwit the other. Every win you had felt like a personal affront to Lando’s pride, and every time you looked at him with that confident smirk on your face, he could feel his blood boiling.

And it wasn’t just the racing.

You hated the way he seemed so effortlessly popular, so always at ease, while you had to fight for every ounce of respect. You hated how Lando could turn on his charm and get people to adore him, while you had to constantly prove yourself, fight for every scrap of attention.

The tension between the two of you was so thick you could cut it with a knife. But neither of you was willing to back down. Every insult, every sharp comment, only made the rivalry worse.

You fought like cats and dogs, and yet... neither of you could ever stay mad for long.

It came to a head during a particularly heated post-race debrief. Lando had been in a foul mood all day, frustrated by a series of mistakes that had cost him valuable points.

You, on the other hand, had finished ahead of him again, something that hadn’t sat well with him.

“I’m just saying,” Lando snapped, throwing his hands up as the discussion continued, “if we had followed my strategy, I would’ve had a better chance at a higher finish. But instead, we got stuck in traffic.”

“Oh, spare me,” you shot back, rolling your eyes. “Maybe you should stop blaming everyone else for your mistakes. If you hadn’t been so reckless on that first lap, you might’ve actually made it out ahead of the rest of us.”

Lando’s nostrils flared. “I was doing what I needed to do to make up for lost time. You can’t just play it safe in this sport.”

“And that’s why you’re always so damn reckless,” you retorted, crossing your arms over your chest, glaring at him. “Maybe if you thought things through instead of just reacting, you’d actually have a better shot at the title. But instead, you’re too busy acting like a show-off.”

His jaw clenched, and the room seemed to grow even more tense. Everyone in the room, from the engineers to the team principal, was watching the two of you like it was an episode of a reality show.

The argument seemed to be escalating, neither of you willing to concede an inch.

“I’m getting tired of you undermining everything I do,” Lando bit out, his voice low and dangerous.

“Oh, please,” you spat, your eyes narrowing. “I’m just stating the obvious. You can’t handle competition. Maybe if you focused more on the race and less on your ego, we’d all be better off.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, the room fell into an uncomfortable silence. Lando stared at you, his chest rising and falling with every breath.

But underneath the anger, there was something else—something that felt deeper than mere rivalry.

And that’s when it hit him.

He was attracted to you.

The realization shook him. He tried to push it aside, bury it under more anger, more frustration. But it lingered, gnawing at him in the quiet moments when the racing was over and the team was winding down.

Every time you shot him a look, every time you won—every time you were right, he couldn’t help but feel his chest tighten.

He hated it.

Hated the way you got under his skin.

Hated the way your smile made him forget how mad he was at you.

Hated the way he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

But he refused to let it show.

The rivalry, the distance, it was easier to keep it that way. You were his teammate, and he couldn’t afford to let his guard down.

Not now, not when everything was on the line. But it was impossible to ignore the chemistry that simmered just beneath the surface.

And then, one night, everything fell apart.

It was after a particularly tough race where the two of you had both been involved in a collision with another driver, one that had resulted in you both being forced to retire from the race.

The night had been a disaster, and you were both too angry and too tired to deal with each other properly.

You were in the team’s garage, standing by your car, trying to cool off before heading back to the hotel. Lando was pacing nearby, his hands running through his hair, frustration radiating off him in waves.

“You know, I’m getting sick of this,” Lando muttered under his breath, looking over at you. “You always think you’re so much better than me, like I don’t know what I’m doing.”

You snapped back immediately. “You’re the one who keeps making excuses for your mistakes, Lando. Don’t act like I’m the problem.”

It was like a switch flipped.

The tension between you had been building for months, but now it was all coming to a head. Lando strode over to you, his jaw clenched and his fists at his sides.

“You want to know the truth?” Lando’s voice was low, almost a growl. “I don’t hate you. I never have. I’m not angry because you’re better than me or because I’m some childish idiot. I’m angry because I can’t stand how *much* I care about you. You drive me crazy, Y/N. I hate that I want to make this work with you so badly.”

You stood frozen, shock overtaking your features. Your heart raced, but you couldn’t form the words. He was right in front of you, and everything you had tried to ignore, all the feelings you had buried deep down, were suddenly surfacing.

“I’ve been pushing you away because I can’t handle it,” Lando continued, his voice cracking slightly. “I’ve been afraid to admit that I want something more. Something with you.

But I’m not going to do that anymore. I can’t keep pretending.”

You were speechless for a long moment. This wasn’t the Lando you knew—the cocky, confident racer. This was raw, vulnerable Lando. The one who was afraid of losing everything. And in that moment, you realized you’d been afraid of the same thing.

But the truth hit you hard. You didn’t want to push him away anymore either.

You couldn’t.

“I’m not afraid anymore,” you whispered, taking a step toward him. “I’m not afraid to feel something for you.”

Lando’s eyes softened as he took a step closer. And then, with a surge of emotion, he kissed you—not out of competition, but because, despite everything, he had always loved you.

It wasn’t easy, but slowly, things started to change. From enemies to something more, the shift was gradual, but undeniable. No longer was there bitterness, no longer was there rivalry. Instead, there was partnership, trust, and the possibility of something more.

And it was in that moment, on the track and off, that you finally realized: what you had wasn’t just about racing.

It was about you two.

Together.

Thank you for reading!

[frasermints]

it's even worse than i predicted. leafs aren't gutless and refusing to make necessary decisions. leafs are DICKLESS and refusing to make necessary decisions and making up for it by making BAD decisions that will be harmful for our team down the line. brother. i am.

[dirtytransmasc]

I think a lot of TB fans are mad that Alicent is "morally grey" in the way the wish Rhaenyra was, and that she's still doing "morally grey" better than her anyway, despite being a lot less morally grey and a lot more morally... fucked over and backed into a corner where she has to to do morally questionable things to keep her and her children alive... but I digress. I think they hate that Alicent is everything that they preach about when talking about Rhaenyra, while they shit on her with the very next breath.

this isn't even to say that Rhaenyra isn't morally grey, or that being morally grey makes her unlikable. she is, very truly, a morally grey character, and she can be very interesting when viewed as a flawed character with flawed decisions that aren't the best.

this also isn't to say Alicent's perfect, it's to say her hand being forced left and right, being made into a wounded animal that snaps at any hand that comes near it after years of being alone, hurting, neglected, and used, makes her a whole lot more complicated and morally less than grey.

[halfdeadwallfly]

hello i just wrote a poem and for some reason it feels important

[glacierbash]

I know the second I got into ranked crystalline I’d get my ass handed to me, but I really really REALLY wanna become a good pvp player… like I wanna get GOOD at paladin… idk…

[whumpity-whumpwhump]

Failed escape attempts are great and all but you know what’s even better? Failed escape attempts that get civilians involved.

The whumpee nearly escaped and yes they will suffer for it but you know what else will happen? The whumper can kill whatever poor innocent soul was trying to help whumpee. And they can make the whumpee watch as they do it, making sure that they know that this wouldn’t have happened if not for them. That this person is only dead because the whumpee tried to escape and they tried to help them.

The whumpee then gets to spend some wonderful moments stirring in guilt and self loathing, along with anger at whumper.

Bonus points if the next time they have a chance to escape or alert someone they don’t. They stay silent and pliable as whumper guides them through a train station. They barely even need the threat of the knife in their back to comply, all too aware that whumper won’t hesitate to kill anyone who helps them. Or they go out of their way to assure the police officer that pulled them over that everything is fine, they haven’t seen anyone or anything suspicious. They’re just on a trip with their friends.

[milfdarthrevan]

#reblogging my own posts#free to use#everyone should check out the notes on this post yall have great ideas#silmarillion#elves#valinor#bonus points: no one ever officially cancelled the decree making Formenos and its surroundings the lands of Feanor and his kin#Caranthir ir Amrod or whoever is now the liege lord of several thousand people he never met#they mostly think it's cool - a real Ancient Kinslayer in the ruined city! how Authentic (tm)!#they don't really listen to his orders but will help clean out a house for him and pay some taxes/admittance fees to the theme park#and sure he can represent them in council in Tirion if he wants; they've all been ignoring the city and will continue to do so

Elves born in the Second and Third Ages are used to having the ruins of earlier eras scattered around the landscape being Aesthetic, and are disappointed that there aren’t any in Valinor.

So they deliberately build cities, attack them with siege weaponry, and abandon them. It only takes around two hundred years to get that Haunted Vibe!

[acourtofquestions]

Kingdom of Ash Chapter 57

Chapter Highlights (most of the chapter is the highlight lol)

An hour before dawn, the keep and two armies beyond it were stirring.

Rowan had barely slept, and instead lain awake beside Aelin, listening to her breathing.

That the rest of them slumbered soundly was testament to their exhaustion, though Lorcan had not found them again. Rowan was willing to bet it was by choice.

It was not fear or anticipation of battle that had kept Rowan up—no, he'd slept well enough during other wars. But rather the fact that his mind would not stop looping him from thought to thought to thought.

He'd seen the numbers camped outside.

Valg, human men loyal to Erawan, some fell beasts, yet nothing like the ilken or the

Wyrdhounds, or even the witches.

Aelin could wipe them away before the sun had fully risen. A few blasts of her power, and that army would be gone.

Yet she had not presented it as an option in their planning last night.

He'd seen the hope shining in the eyes of the people in the keep, the awe of the children as she'd passed. The Fire-Bringer, they'd whispered. Aelin of the Wildfire.

How soon would that awe and hope crumble today when not a spark of that fire was unleashed? How soon would the men's fear turn rank when the Queen of Terrasen did not wipe away Morath's legions?

He hadn't been able to ask her. Had told himself to, had roared at himself to ask these past few weeks, when even their training hadn't summoned an ember.

But he couldn't bring himself to demand why she wouldn't or couldn't use her power, why they had seen or felt nothing of it after those initial few days of freedom. Couldn't ask what Maeve and Cairn had done to possibly make her fear or hate her magic enough that she didn't touch it.

Worry and dread gnawing at him, Rowan slipped from the room, the din of preparations greeting him the moment he entered the hall. A heartbeat later, the door opened behind him, and steps fell into sync with his own, along with a familiar, wicked scent.

"They burned her."

Rowan glanced sidelong at Fenrys. "What?" But Fenrys nodded to a passing healer.

"Cairn—and Maeve, through her orders."

"Why are you telling me this?" Fenrys, blood oath or no, what he'd done for Aelin or no, was not privy to these matters. No, it was between him and his mate, and no one else.

Fenrys threw him a grin that didn't meet his eyes. "You were staring at her half the night. I could see it on your face. You're all thinking it—why doesn't she just burn the enemy to hell?" Rowan aimed for the washing station down the hall. A few soldiers and healers stood along the metal trough, scrubbing their faces to shake the sleep or nerves.

Fenrys said, "He put her in those metal gauntlets. And one time, he heated them over an open brazier. There…" He stumbled for words, and Rowan could barely breathe. "It took the healers two weeks to fix what he did to her hands and wrists. And when she woke up, there was nothing but healed skin. She couldn't tell what had been done and what was a nightmare." Rowan reached for one of the ewers that some of the children refilled every few moments and dumped it over his head. Icy water bit into his skin, drowning out the roaring in his ears.

"Cairn did many things like that." Fenrys took up a ewer himself, and splashed some into his hands before rubbing them over his face.

Rowan's hands shook as he watched the water funnel toward the basin set beneath the trough.

"Your claiming marks, though." Fenrys wiped his face again. "No matter what they did to her, they remained. Longer than any other scar, they stayed."

Yet her neck had been smooth when he'd found her.

Reading that thought, Fenrys said, "The last time they healed her, right before she escaped. That's when they vanished. When Maeve told her that you had gone to Terrasen."

The words hit like a blow. When she had lost hope that he was coming for her. Even the greatest healers in the world hadn't been able to take that from her until then.

Rowan wiped his face on the arm of his jacket. "Why are you telling me this?" he repeated.

Fenrys rose from the trough, drying his face with the same lack of ceremony. "So you can stop wondering what happened. Focus on something else today." The warrior kept pace beside him as they headed for where they'd been told a meager breakfast would be laid out.

"And let her come to you when she's ready."

"She's my mate," Rowan growled. "You think I don't know that?" Fenrys could shove his snout into someone else's business.

Fenrys held up his hands. "You can be brutal, when you want something."

"I'd never force her to tell me anything she wasn't ready to say." It had been their bargain from the start. Part of why he'd fallen in love with her.

He should have known then, during those days in Mistward, when he found himself sharing parts of himself, his history, that he'd never told anyone. When he found himself needing to tell her, in fragments and pieces, yes, but he'd wanted her to know. And Aelin had wanted to hear it. All of it.

They discovered Aelin and Elide already at the buffet table, grim-faced as they plucked up pieces of bread and cheese and dried fruit. No sign of Gavriel or Lorcan.

Rowan came up behind his mate and pressed a kiss to her neck. Right to where his new claiming marks lay.

She hummed, and offered him a bite of the bread she'd already dug into while gathering the rest of her food. He obliged, the bread thick and hearty, then said, "You were asleep when I left a few minutes ago, yet you somehow beat me to the breakfast table." Another kiss to her neck. "Why am I not surprised?"

Elide laughed beside Aelin, piling food onto her own plate. Aelin only elbowed him as he fell into line beside her.

The four of them ate quickly, refilled their waterskins at the fountain in an interior courtyard, and set about finding armor. There was little on the upper levels that was fit for wearing, so they descended into the keep, deeper and deeper, until they came across a locked room.

"Should we, or is it rude?" Aelin mused, peering at the wooden door.

Rowan sent a spear of his wind aiming for the lock and splintered it apart. "Looks like it was already open when we got here," he said mildly.

Aelin gave him a wicked grin, and Fenrys pulled a torch off its bracket in the narrow stone hallway to illuminate the room beyond.

"Well, now we know why the rest of the keep is a piece of shit," Aelin said, surveying the trove. "He's kept all the gold and fun things down here."

Indeed, his mate's idea of fun things was the same as Rowan's: armor and swords, spears and ancient maces.

"He couldn't have distributed this?" Elide frowned at the racks of swords and daggers.

"It's all heirlooms," said Fenrys, approaching one such rack and studying the hilt of a sword. "Ancient, but still good. Really good," he added, pulling a blade from its sheath.

He glanced at Rowan. "This was forged by an Asterion blacksmith."

"From a different age," Rowan mused, marveling at the flawless blade, its impeccable condition. "When Fae were not so feared."

"Are we just going to take it? Without even Chaol's permission?" Elide chewed on her lip.

Aelin snickered. "Let's consider ourselves swords-for-hire. And as such, we have fees that need to be paid." She hefted a round, golden shield, its edges beautifully engraved with a motif of waves. Also Asterion-made, judging by the craftsmanship. Likely for the Lord of Anielle— the Lord of the Silver Lake. "So, we'll take what we're owed for today's battle, and spare His Lordship the task of having to come down here himself."

Gods, he loved her.

Fenrys winked at Elide. "I won't tell if you don't, Lady."

Elide blushed, then waved them onward. "Collect your earnings, then."

Rowan did. He and Fenrys found armor that could fit them—in certain areas. They had to forgo the entire suit, but took pieces to enforce their shoulders, forearms, and shins. Rowan had just finished strapping greaves on his legs when Fenrys said, "We should bring some of this up for Lorcan and Gavriel."

Indeed they should. Rowan eyed other pieces, and began collecting extra daggers and blades, then sections from another suit that might fit Lorcan, Fenrys doing the same for Gavriel.

"You must charge a great deal for your services," Elide muttered. Even while the Lady of Perranth tied a few daggers to her own belt.

"I need some way to pay for my expensive tastes, don't I?" Aelin drawled, weighing a dagger in her hands.

But she hadn't donned any armor yet, and when Rowan gave her an inquiring glance, Aelin jerked her chin toward him. "Head upstairs-track down Lorcan and Gavriel. I'll find you soon."

Her face was unreadable for once. Perhaps she wanted a moment alone before battle. And when Rowan tried to find any words in her eyes, Aelin turned toward the shield she'd claimed. As if contemplating it.

So Rowan and Fenrys headed upstairs, Elide helping to haul their stolen gear. No one stopped them. Not with the sky turning to gray, and soldiers rushing to their positions on the battlements.

Rowan and Fenrys didn't have far to go.

They'd be stationed by the gates at the lower level, where the battering rams might come flying through if Morath got desperate enough.

On the level above them, Chaol sat astride his magnificent black horse, the mare's breath curling from her nostrils. Rowan lifted a hand in greeting, and Chaol saluted back before gazing toward the enemy army.

The khaganate would make the first maneuver, the initial push to get Morath moving.

"I always forget how much I hate this part," Fenrys muttered. "The waiting before it begins."

Rowan grunted his agreement.

Gavriel prowled up to them, Lorcan a dark storm behind him. Rowan wordlessly handed the latter the armor he'd gathered. "Courtesy of the Lord of Anielle." Lorcan gave him a look that said he knew Rowan was full of shit, but began efficiently donning the armor, Gavriel doing the same.

Whether the soldiers around them marked that armor, whether Chaol recognized it, no one said a word.

"Ready now," Chaol called out to the men of his keep.

This would be it—today. Whether that hope remained or fractured.

Already, the awakening sky revealed two siege towers being hauled toward them. Right to the wall. Far closer than Rowan had last noted when flying overhead last night. Morath, it seemed, had not been sleeping, either.

The ruks would remain back with their own army, driving Morath to the keep. To be picked off here, one by one.

"We have minutes until that first tower makes contact with the wall," Gavriel observed. A scan of the battlements, the soldiers atop them, revealed no sign of Aelin. Lorcan indeed muttered, "Someone better tell her to stop primping and get here." Rowan snarled in warning.

"Archers!" Chaol's bellow rang out. Behind them, down the battlements, bows groaned. Fenrys unslung the bow across his back and nocked an arrow into place.

Rowan kept his own bow strapped across his back, the quiver untouched, Gavriel and Lorcan doing the same. No need to waste them on a few soldiers when their aim might be needed with far worse targets later in the day.

But one of them had to be noted felling soldiers. For whatever it would do to rally their spirits. And Fenrys, as fine an archer as Rowan, he'd admit, would do just fine.

Rowan followed the line of Fenrys's arrowhead to where he'd marked one of the bearers of a siege ladder. "Make it impressive," he muttered.

"Mind your own business," Fenrys muttered back, tracking his target with the tip of his arrow as he awaited Chaol's order.

If Aelin didn't arrive within another moment, he'd have to leave the battlements to find her. What in hell had held her up?

Lorcan drew his ancient blade, which Rowan had witnessed felling soldiers in kingdoms far from here, in wars far longer than this one. "They'll head for the gates when that siege tower docks," Lorcan said, glancing from the battlements to the gate a level below, the small bastion of men in front of it. Trees had been felled to prop up the metal doors, but should a solid enough group of enemy soldiers swarm it, they might get those supports and the heavy locks down within minutes. And open the gates to the hordes beyond

"We don't let them get that far," Rowan said, eyeing up the massive tower lumbering closer. Soldiers teemed behind it, waiting to scale its interior. "Chaol brought the tower down the other day without our help. It can happen again."

"Volley!" Chaol's roar echoed off the stones, and arrows sang.

Like a swarm of locusts, they swept upon the soldiers marching below. Fenrys's arrow found its mark with lethal precision.

Within a heartbeat, another was on its tail. A second soldier at the siege ladder fell.

Where the hell was Aelin—

Morath didn't halt. Marched right over the soldiers who fell on their front lines.

The pulse of human fear down the battlements rippled against his skin. The cadre would have to strike fast, and strike well, to shake it away.

The siege tower lumbered closer. One glance from Rowan had him and his friends moving toward the spot it would now undeniably strike upon the battlements. Close enough to the stairs down to the gate. Morath had chosen the location well.

Some of the soldiers they passed were praying, a shuddering push of words into the frigid morning air.

Lorcan said to one of them, "Save your breath for the battle, not the gods."

Rowan shot him a look, but the man, gaping at Lorcan, quieted.

Chaol ordered another volley, and arrows flew, Fenrys firing as he walked. As if he were barely bothered.

Still, the whispered prayers continued down the line, swords shaking along with them.

Up by Chaol, the soldiers held firm, faces solid.

But here, on this level of the battlements ... those faces were pale. Wide-eyed.

"Someone better say something inspiring," Fenrys said through gritted teeth, firing another arrow. "Or these men are going to piss themselves in a minute."

For a minute was all they had left, as the first siege tower inched closer.

"You've got the pretty face," Lorcan retorted. "You'd do a better job of it."

"It's too late for speeches," Rowan cut in before Fenrys could reply. "Better to show them what we can do."

Rowan steadied his breathing, readying his magic to rip through Valg lungs. He'd fell a few with his blades first. To show how easily it could be done, that Morath was desperate and victory would be near. The magic would come later.

The siege tower groaned as it slowed to a stop.

Just as the wall under them shuddered at its impact, Fenrys whispered, "Holy gods."

Not at the bridge that snapped down, soldiers teeming in the dark depths inside.

But at who emerged from the keep archway behind them. What emerged.

Rowan didn't know where to look. At the soldiers pouring out of the siege tower, leaping onto the battlements, or at Aelin.

At the Queen of Terrasen.

She'd found armor below the keep. Beautiful, pale gold armor that gleamed like a summer dawn. Holding back her braided hair, a diadem lay flush against her head. Not a diadem, but a piece of armor. Part of some ancient set for a lady long since buried.

A crown for war, a crown to wear into battle. A crown to lead armies.

There was no fear on her face, no doubt, as Aelin hefted her shield, flipping Goldryn in her hand once before the first of Morath's soldiers was upon her.

A swift, upward strike cleaved the Morath grunt from navel to chin. His black blood sprayed, but she was already moving, flowing like a stream around a rock.

Rowan launched into movement, his blades finding their marks, but still he watched her.

Aelin slammed her shield against an oncoming warrior, Goldryn slicing through another before she plunged the blade into the soldier she'd deflected.

She did it again, and again.

All while heading toward that siege tower. Unhindered. Unleashed.

A call went down the line. The queen has come.

Soldiers waiting their turn whirled toward them. Aelin took on three Valg soldiers and left them dying on the stones.

She planted her line before the gaping maw of that siege tower, right in the path of those teeming hordes. Every moment of the training she'd done on the ship here, on the road, every new blister and callus—all to rebuild herself for this.

The queen has come.

Goldryn unfaltering, her shield an extension of her arm, Aelin glowed like the sun that now broke over the khagan's army as she engaged each soldier that hurtled her way.

Five, ten—she moved and moved and moved, ducking and swiping, shoving and flipping, black blood spraying, her face the portrait of grim, unbreaking will.

"The queen!" the men shouted. "To the queen!"

And as Rowan fought his way closer, as that cry went down the battlements and Anielle men ran to aid her, he realized that Aelin did not need an ounce of flame to inspire men to follow.

That she had been waiting, yanking at the bit, to show them what she, without magic, without any godly power, might do.

He'd never seen such a glorious sight. In every land, every battle, he had never seen anything as glorious as Aelin before the throat of the siege tower, holding the line.

Dawn breaking around them, Rowan loosed a battle cry and tore into Morath.

This first battle would set the tone.

It would set the tone, and send a message.

Not to Morath.

Impress us, Hasar had said.

So she would. So she'd picked the golden armor and her battle-crown. And waited until dawn, until that siege tower slammed into the battlements, before unleashing herself.

To keep the men here from breaking, to wipe away the fear festering in their eyes.

To convince the khaganate royals of what she might do, what she could do. Not a threat, but a reminder.

She was no helpless princess. She had never been.

Goldryn sang with each swipe, her mind as cool and sharp as the blade while she assessed each enemy soldier, their weapons, and took them down accordingly. She dimly knew that Rowan fought at her side, Gavriel and Fenrys battling near her left flank.

But she was keenly aware of the mortal men who leaped into the fray with cries of defiance.

They'd made it this far. They would survive today, too. And the khaganate royals would know it.

Galloping hooves drowned out the battle, and then Chaol was there, sword flashing, driving into the unending tide that rushed from the tower's entrance.

"To Lord Chaol! To the queen!"

How far they both were from Rifthold.

From the assassin and the captain.

Arrows rose from the army beyond the wall, but a wave of icy wind snapped them into splinters before they could find any marks. A dark blur plunged past, and then Lorcan was at the siege tower's mouth, his sword swinging so fast Aelin could barely follow it. He battled his way across the metal bridge of the tower, into the stairwell beyond. Like he'd fight his way down the ramps and onto the battlefield itself. Below, a boom began. Morath had brought in their battering ram.

Aelin smiled grimly. She'd bring them all down. Then Erawan. And then she'd unleash herself upon Maeve.

At the opposite end of the field, the khagan's army pushed, gaining the field step by step.

Not helpless. Not contained. Never again.

Death became a melody in her blood, every movement a dance as the tide of soldiers pouring from the tower slowed. As if Lorcan was indeed forcing his way down the interior.

Those who got past him met her blade, or Rowan's. A flash of gold, and Gavriel had slaughtered his way into the siege tower as well, twin blades a whirlwind.

What Lorcan and the Lion would do upon reaching the bottom, how they'd dislodge the tower, she didn't know. Didn't think about it.

Not from this place of killing and movement, of breath and blood. Of freedom.

Death had been her curse and her gift and her friend for these long, long years. She was happy to greet it again under the golden morning sun.

[starkwlkr]

happy life, happy wife | hugh jackman

an: “you attract what you fear” GUYS IM SO SCARED OF A 55 YEAR OLD AUSTRALIAN 😭 definitely thinking about making marvel actress!reader x hugh an actual series… i have ideas

marvel actress!reader

Deadpool & Wolverine Press tour - Hot Ones

Hugh felt like he was going to die. Each wing was getting hotter and hotter, but immediately when he heard his wife’s name he forgot all about the spice.

“Hugh, your wife is part of the Avengers, how does it feel having your wife be part of such a huge franchise? Have you two talked about a potential team up with the X-men and the Avengers?” Sean asked.

“My wife . . . Oh god, I think I’m crying-”

“I can’t tell if you’re legitimately dying or completely in love with your wife.” Ryan told Hugh.

“Wait . . I am completely in love with my wife and I would legitimately die for her.” Hugh gasped as he rearranged Ryan’s words.

“Is that in the contract she made you sign when you married her? ‘I vow to die for you’. My contract said I had to give all my money to my kids and wife.” Ryan said.

“No, she’s amazing, um, if I start talking about her I think I might go on for hours,” he laughed. “Our kids do want to see their parents fighting the bad guys together. We would love to team up, maybe it could happen.” Hugh smiled.

“The entire movie would be them making out and her beating the shit out of you. I’d pay to see that.” Ryan added.

•••

Comic Con 2024

Like RDJ, your last Marvel movie had been Avengers: Endgame. After being in ten mcu films, it was time to say goodbye to your character.

But that was in 2019.

At this years comic con, you were back. The cast of Deadpool & Wolverine had taken the stage and showed their appreciation for the fans. After their panel, it was time to announce Marvel’s upcoming projects. Kevin Feige announced the Fantastic Four, Thunderbolts, Captain America 4, and finally the new Avengers movies, which everyone was extremely excited about.

After showing the title card for the upcoming Avengers film, Kevin turned to the audience.

“Something people have been asking, as of late, is who the heck is going to direct these two movies?” The audience clapped.

From the side of the stage, you were nervous. What if the fans didn’t like the idea of you directing the next two Avengers films? Your worrying caused Hugh to come to your rescue.

“Hey, they loved you as an Avenger, they will love you even more.” Hugh kissed your forehead. “If anyone says anything about this decision, they have me to deal with.”

You laughed at his words. “I really love you so much.”

“Love you too, bub.” Hugh was about to kiss you when Ryan cut in.

“I really love us too. I convinced half of the people here that we’re a throuple.” He said in the most serious tone ever.

Kevin announced you as the director. Your doubt of the fans not liking the announcement was proven wrong when you walked the stairs to the stage and stood next to Kevin. They cheered when they saw you were back.

As you said a few words, thanking Marvel, Kevin and the fans, you were being recorded by Hugh, who was being recorded by Ryan.

“That’s my wife!” Hugh cheered from backstage, holding his phone in his hand.

“She’s Marvel Jesus now, holy shit!”

•••

WIRED autocomplete interview

“Is Hugh Jackman married?”

“Yes, to me, Y/n, probably to half the population,” Ryan answered. “He’s Australia’s biggest slut.”

“All the times, I proposed.” Hugh laughed. “But yes, I am married and I love my wife very much. She’s stuck with me forever.” He lifted his hand to show off the wedding band.

“Funny, because she texted me right now. Her and Blake are in the courthouse getting married. So Deadpool three was actually made so our wives could divorce us and marry each other.”

[aperrywilliams]

That Wasn't Fake (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)

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Author Masterlist

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader.

Request: Can you write a Spencer fic where the reader is kind of quiet and shy when she begins working at the BAU, and Spencer has a crush on her, and then they have a case, and she has to like to seduce the unsub lowkey and everyone kind of like...how is she going to do this shes not very outgoing but when she does shes really good at it, and everyone is surprised and impressed.

Summary:  You're shy and reserved. Spencer has a crush on you, and unbeknown to him, you have a crush on him. Maybe the cat can get out of the bag when you have to step aside of your comfort zone to catch an elusive unsub.

Word Count: 4.2k (no self control here)

Warnings: Words like 'fuck' and 'bitch'. A rant about self-doubt. Typical CM stuff: unsubs, killings, etc.

A/N: Another request I loved! It should have been a little shorter, but I'm having a hard time getting to the point these days. Please keep sending requests!

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Spencer knows it is inappropriate, but he can't help it. You're coworkers, and that itself sets a boundary, so he shouldn't be thinking of trespassing.

But the crush he has on you seems to grow every day.

He doesn't know if it is your beautiful smile, the kindness you show in everything you do, or the enthusiasm you put into every task you are committed to. Since the moment he saw you pass the bullpen glass doors, Spencer knew he was damned.

From that moment, Spencer knew he wanted to know you and learn everything about you. About what you liked, what you hated, and what your fears and dreams were. Everything.

But not much after that revelation in his mind, he understood it wasn't going to be easy to get to you.

You were extremely shy and reserved.

In fact, your first interaction - when Emily introduced you both - consisted of a wave of your hand and a timid 'nice to meet you.'

He thought as time went by, you would loosen and become less bashful and quiet. And in part, he was right. As the months passed, you began to feel more comfortable within the team. You laughed at Luke's jokes, you commented on Rossi's stories, and you could even - when the stars aligned - crack a joke yourself to Tara or Matt.

But beyond that, no one knew much about your life outside of the BAU, unlike JJ, who always talks about her kids and her husband, or Matt, who talks about his kids, too. Or Tara, who recounts her failed dates. Or the same Luke who always shows photos of Roxy.

You, on the other hand, seemed to be an enigma. But Spencer Reid loved decoding enigmas.

At first, he turned his interest in you out of mere scientific curiosity. However, internally, he knew it wasn't just that.

It started with small random questions about the times you worked together: Is this coffee okay? What was the last book you read? Do you think we should buy some donuts for the team?

If you were honest, it picked your interest why, from all people, Dr. Spencer Reid was so adamant in making conversation with you.

From what you knew and from what the team said, Spencer was not a person very interested in things other than work or books. But suddenly, out of nowhere, he asked you what the last movie you saw was or something like that.

You always answered his questions; however, you would have liked to be much more talkative and engage in longer conversations, but your nature stopped you.

'What if I don't have anything more interesting for him to say?'

'Does he just talk to me because he feels sorry for me?'

And that was the big issue: you have never had problems with the way you live your life. You're pretty satisfied with what you do in your job and out of it, too. But you have always thought you are too 'simple' to entertain people's interest.

And to be honest, being surrounded by people with so much experience and big things happening in their lives still intimidates you a bit. So, you usually refrain from talking too much about yourself or anything for that matter.

But with Spencer, things are a bit different. He's always checking on you but respects your boundaries. He has learned that sometimes you just don't want to talk, and he doesn't push.

Despite his interest beyond the professional, Spencer would never do anything to make you uncomfortable. Being able to share time with you will have to be enough for him.

In a way, he has become your protector. He is your backup during interrogations or in situations where you can feel awkward, like the times when some police officers tried to flirt with you and got too close. Sure, you know how to turn them down, but sometimes guys don't get the memo and keep pushing. You're too shy to yell or be aggressive about it.

The team also understands the way you are, and they know it does not make you any less professional. However, they have always been careful not to take you too much out of your comfort zone.

---------------

A whole two weeks and five murders later, the team is stuck trying to catch an unsub who has preferences for killing women after club nights. The profile says he is not interested in just any woman but in those between 25-30 years old who like to flirt with several men in the clubs. But it is not just any type of flirting; it is the type that is initiated and dominated by them. In short, he likes to kill women who are the opposite of submissive. He sees them as predators on a hunting ground.

Another finding in victimology is that the women he kills, in addition to having a specific age range, have very similar physical characteristics. And similar to you.

All his victims have your build, eye color, hair color, and height. It gets to be creepy to a certain point. And it's something difficult to ignore.

Bouncing information and possible strategies, the team agrees they need to be proactive to get him to show up before another killing happens.

"Okay, what options do we have?" Emily asks.

"The witnesses haven't gotten us anywhere," Luke complains.

"Although we've narrowed down his hunting grounds," Rossi shrugs.

"Yeah, we know the clubs where he likes to hunt," JJ backs Rossi.

"But although the profile, we have yet to learn about what to look for there. I mean, we know what the unsub wants, but not how he looks like." This time, it's Tara who speaks.

You've rarely seen Emily bite her tongue when she wants to say something, but it's clear that she has something on her mind, and she doesn't know how to put it, or maybe the problem is something else. You look at her out of the corner of your eye, and she looks back at you; what do those eyes say? They look like they're even apologetic.

It's a fraction of the time before she comes back to behave like herself.

"We need to lurk him. It's the only way," she says. And everyone's eyes - yours included - are on her immediately.

"Lurk him?" Matt repeats.

"Yes. And all we know who should be the one going undercover to do that," Emily adds, looking at you this time.

That's it—the elephant in the room.

Of course, you're the ideal candidate. Well, you're perfect in the physical aspect because if we talk about the victim's personality and yours...

There's silence in the room, and you can feel like the team's eyes are all on you.

Do they expect you to say no? To refuse? From your perspective, it's not a question; it's more like the option you all have to catch the guy.

"It's true (Y/N) would be the closest to the unsub type, but there are a lot of things to take into account," Matt says. And you know perfectly well what's behind his words, even if he doesn't say it directly.

And that's okay; it's perfectly plausible they have their doubts. It is not enough to look like the victims for the operation to work.

But if there is one thing you are sure of, it's that you will always give your all to your job, even if that means becoming a completely different person.

"I can do it," you mumbled so quietly that if the AC weren't in the lower setting, people wouldn't have heard you.

"But (Y/N), you know about this guy. It's dangerous," Matt points, a frown on his face.

"Not to mention he likes rough interactions," Luke adds.

"You don't have to do it if you feel uncomfortable." This time, it is JJ who voices her opinion. And you know, that's the closest reason to the team's main concern.

And the fact you can blow up the entire plan.

Spencer stays in silence. Internally he's freaking out thinking of you having to lurk on the unsub, but he knows you are a professional. And he feels a kind of deja vu.

When he was younger, the team would have said the same about him doing something like that. Spencer knows what it's like when people baby you, making you feel insecure. Sure, he hasn't had to worry about that anymore. Spencer is almost forty, and no one would dare to tell him he can't do something. Not after all the things he has been through.

"JJ is right, Bella. You don't have to do it. We can think of another way," Rossi backs JJ.

That's when Spencer notices the slight frown on your face. It's invisible to everyone but him. He knows it's there.

You stay collected, even when everyone on the team has something to say about how bad the idea of you going undercover to lurk the unsub is.

Emily is who stops everyone's rant.

"Guys, hey. If (Y/N) is telling us she can do it, we're going to do it. Of course, we'll be there to back up her and catch this unsub."

And this is how the discussion is settled.

Emily sends everyone out with a task to prepare for the night. Today is Friday, and the unsub will surely be stalking some new victim. The chances are high.

When it's just you and Spencer in the room, he still looks at you in silence.

"Do you also think I'll not be able to pull off this mission and I'm going to ruin everything?"

You downcast your gaze, exhaling deeply.

"No. I don't think that," Spencer clarifies, and you raise your gaze to meet his eyes. "You are more than capable, (Y/N). The team is worried because you'll be out of your comfort zone in a dangerous situation."

"The team? Not you?" You narrow your eyes to him.

You try not to sound accusatory, but if you're as scared as everyone, you also are fed up with the other's doubts.

Spencer closes the distance between you both but doesn't invade your personal space.

"Of course, I'm worried too! I don't want anything bad to happen to you. But I trust you and your judgment."

Your heart does flip-flops, and you're not sure if it's because Spencer is worried or because, despite that, he trusts you—or both.

"You do?" You ask, not so convinced.

Spencer nods and smiles at you.

"And we'll be there when you catch the guy."

If that is the reassurance you need, you don't mention it. Instead, you grin at Spencer as a promise you'll do your job just how you are supposed to.

---------------

You insist on getting ready in your hotel room. The only assistant you ask for is Emily. She was the one who trusted you first in this, so you'll take every piece of advice she can give you before this night starts.

Everyone has a role in the plan.

Rossi will be the chauffeur who will drive you to the club.

Luke and Spencer would be in the club, mingling with the patrons. JJ, Matt, and Emily would be in the van monitoring the whole situation with cameras and earpieces. Rossi would keep his facade as a driver so he could be at one of the entrances. Tara would be at the club, too, eyeing nothing suspicious going on in the bar because there is a chance the unsub is getting help from the bartender.

When you are in front of the mirror applying the last touch of makeup, Emily is looking at you with a stare you can't decipher.

"What?" you ask, and Emily chuckles.

"Please, don't take this in a bad way, but I never thought I would live the day of seeing you using clothing like this. And Jesus, you look so hot!"

Your cheeks redens.

"It's a little bit odd coming from my boss, don't you think?" you muse, smoothing the fabric of your dress.

"Point taken," Emily raises her hands in defense. "Although I know someone who is going to run out of breath after seeing you."

You let out a scoff. It's not a surprise for you. The BAU girls - boss included - have been trying to set you up with Spencer since forever. You don't entertain the idea only because you don't think it's possible and not because you don't like the concept.

"Come on, don't say that. You are not helping to my nerves."

"Sorry, I'll shut up. We should go, though," Emily says, checking her watch.

One of the SUVs drives you to the van parking point. You needed to review the operation details.

At the back of the van - or commander point - JJ, Luke, Tara, Rossi, Matt, and Spencer see you come up with Emily.

For the best US profilers, they're not doing a good job hiding that they are gawking at you. Surely, no one imagined seeing you in such a revealing outfit. Outfit that, without a doubt, suits you extremely well, highlighting all your body attributes.

Spencer feels like he died and was resurrected after seeing you.

"Okay, guys, we need to check the details again," Emily announces.

The plan is in motion, and everyone is in position.

As expected, you arrive with Rossi at the club, who opens the door for you and helps you descend from the car. Rossi gives you a reassuring smile before letting you go.

Like a switch, you are no longer the shy SSA (Y/L/N). Now you are the woman who is going to take what she wants and attract the unsub attention doing that.

Your walk is determined, and your eyes send out flames of confidence to those who look at you. The music is very loud, something that would usually bother you, but not now. This needs to feel like your environment. That's how you like it, you tell yourself.

Almost instantly, you start to attract the looks of men who are eager for a woman like you.

You exude determination, and you don't go unnoticed.

Walking into the club, you make brief eye contact with Luke, who is on the dance floor. You see Spencer perched in a booth, nursing a beer.

At the same time, Tara is stationed at the bar.

"Remember (Y/N); the unsub expects the woman to approach men. The flirt needs to come from you," Emily reminds you by the earpiece hidden in one of the earrings you're wearing.

"Show time," you mumble to yourself.

You walk seductively to the dance floor, where a young man is dancing with a blonde. You approach and whisper something in his ear. That makes the boy completely lose interest in the blonde and start dancing with you. You smile and cling to the man's body, who wastes no time and takes your hips as if they were his possessions.

That dance certainly has nothing innocent about it. You continue whispering things in the boy's ear, and he looks more and more excited. Once you consider it a reasonable amount of time to have attracted attention, you leave the boy alone and head to the bar. Just a few meters away from Tara, a suspicious man is staring at you. You see him out of the corner of your eye as you order a drink. When the bartender passes it to you, you make subtle eye contact with Tara, who nods, indicating that the drink is clean.

You look next to you and see another man not so subtly looking at you. You know the unsub's profile, and you can't be intimidated or dominated by another man. You are the one who calls the shots. Otherwise, this will not work.

Before the man makes his attempt to seduce you, you turn to him, and with a penetrating look and disdainful voice, you stop him.

"Sorry, honey. Don't waste your time. You're not my type," and with that, you leave to move to the opposite side of the club. The guy huffs, and you're almost sure hearing him call you 'bitch' under his breath.

JJ, who's following the cameras inside the club, sees someone who looks suspect.

"Hey, this guy has been peeking at (Y/N) the entire time, and look, he clenched his fists when (Y/N) turned down that guy at the bar."

Emily confirms JJ's observation before giving you the next instructions.

"(Y/N), you're doing great. We have a possible target. So we need to raise the bet."

You know exactly what Emily means. You both had talked about the strategy to follow, having more details about what you should do than the rest of the team.

Matt and JJ look confused at each other but say nothing.

Your next step is to find another dude to seduce before delivering the coup de grace.

Luke and Spencer keep an eye on you. And while Luke is pleasantly surprised by your audacity, Spencer can't help but feel his stomach tighten. He tells himself it's because he is afraid something bad could happen to you, but inside of him, it's that and the fact of seeing you flirt with other men.

Just like you did with the guy on the dance floor, you attract the attention of another man; this time, you take his hand and pull him to the dance floor.

JJ and Matt's jaws drop to the floor. If Tara, Luke, and Spencer could do the same without giving themselves away, they would have done it, too.

As if it were your second nature, you laugh and move to the music. The man seems to enjoy the moment so much that he takes a bold step by leaning in to kiss you. You let him get closer until his lips are almost on yours. But before touching each other, you pull back with a malicious smile.

"Naughty boy. I'm who says if you can kiss or no," you pout, faking disappointment. Dizzed, the guy cocks his head and sees you walk away.

Matt chirps now. "It's him. Look boss," he tells Prentiss, pointing to the same guy JJ saw before.

There is no longer any doubt that it is him. Now you just have to catch him red-handed.

"(Y/N), we got him. It's time for the last play," Emily tells you.

With Emily's instruction, you go to the bar for another drink before heading over to where Spencer is sitting.

He tries to play it off, but he has no idea why you're approaching him.

"Is this seat taken, handsome?" You ask, with your drink in hand.

"N- no. Please," Spencer gestures to the booth on his front, but you opt to perch to his side. Spencer thinks he never has been this close to you. He looks at your eyes, and it's like you are a totally different person. It's a little bit contradictory for him, to be honest. He already likes you just as you are, but this version of you? It's driving him insane.

Some resemblance of your true self looks with a kind of curiosity the nervousness on Spencer. You don't think much about it; you assume he's playing the nervous guy who is baffled by you.

The thing is, Spencer isn't playing. He's definitely baffled by you.

"Are you okay?" You ask him, masking your question with a seductive smile.

"Yeah. Are - are you?" Spencer stutters a bit—something that is perfect for the plan but embarrassing for him.

You get closer to him to speak in his ear.

"This was Emily's idea," you tell him before kissing his ear and gently biting his lobe.

Spencer's breath hitches in his throat, and he thinks he's going to pass out any second. You're not doing it better: your heart is also pumping hard from the adrenaline. Of course, you had imagined something like that with Spencer, but only in your erotic dreams. You wouldn't dare do this on any given day.

You keep teasing Spencer, who, despite the nervousness, tries to play along. If this is the closest he will ever have you, he wants to engrave this in his memory.

"Just a little push, (Y/N). We almost have him," Emily instructs by the earpiece.

You swallow as subtly as possible as you wrap your arm around Spencer's neck, pulling him closer to you.

It's only a second between that action and the fact that you're kissing Spencer like it's your last meal.

Spencer doesn't know how to respond, and you were counting on that; it was enough time for the unsub to notice that you were the one who chose her last prey.

When Spencer is about to reciprocate the kiss, you murmur a 'sorry' into his lips and quickly pull away, giving him a disdainful look—which you hope he understands is fake—before getting up and walking toward the back exit door.

As expected, the unsub follows you towards the back door, and while your back is turned, he believes he has the advantage to attack you. What he doesn't know is that Matt and Luke are ready to lunge at him the moment he tries to touch you.

Everything that happens after is too fast.

The unsub is detained and taken to a patrol car while the team gathers around you, congratulating you on the successful operation. They all apologize to you for their previous apprehensions. You tell them that you understand and that there is no need to apologize. And it's like the switch has been flipped again since you came out of the femme fatale role.

But something is wrong. Spencer is not in the group. You see him a little further away, near the exit door of the club. Emily notices the looks between you both, and she sends the team on different tasks to close the case, leaving you and Spencer there.

There's something in his eyes that you can't decipher. You think it's resentment for using him without warning him what you were going to do.

You shyly approach him.

"It's me again," you tell him, pulling a face. You don't know what to say to make the situation better. Spencer nods.

"Yeah. You did it great, by the way," he compliments you. But it doesn't feel good like Spencer's compliments usually do.

"Look, about the kiss back there-" you start. He needs an explanation as a bare minimum.

"I know. It was fake," Spencer cuts you off.

Those words shouldn't hurt you as they do now. But isn't that the most reasonable thing to believe? The you in the club weren't you, so all you did inside was pretend.

Everything except that kiss.

If it's true you couldn't enjoy it the way you would have liked, you will never forget his lips on yours.

A tense silence takes over the moment. This is not okay.

You can't afford to lie to one of the most important people in your life, even if telling the truth takes you out of your comfort zone.

What the hell! Tonight has already been a total of 180 from a usual day for you.

"It wasn't," you mumble, and you see his eyes flicking to yours in a second.

"What?" Spencer asks, narrowing his eyes at you.

"Everything was fake, but not the kiss," you say with a stadied voice this time.

Spencer's heart races again. If you say you didn't fake it, then what he felt on your part at that moment was real?

"It wasn't fake?" He asks for clarification. You nod.

A smirk forms on Spencer's lips, seeing your cheeks redden.

There you are. The girl he had fallen for in the past two years.

"Well, you know that I am a man of science, right?" he tells you, and you frown because you have no idea where this is going.

"I know," you say with some hesitation.

"And as a man of science, I need evidence of things, you know?"

Now, you are the one who smirks at him.

"Evidence, huh?"

"Yep," he says, emphasizing the 'p' and swaying his body on his feet. You hum.

"I believe I can provide the necessary evidence if you need them," you concede, and Spencer's eyes sparkle with excitement.

Now, he is the one who reaches out and cups your cheeks. Your breathing quickens, but that doesn't stop you from standing on your tiptoes and connecting your lips with his.

This time, there is no unsub, no curious eyes are looking at you, there is no rush, there is no femme fatale role, and above all, this is not fake; it's as real as the fact that your heart beats for him, and his for you.

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